Between the Heavens, Trials of Faith
by sally-met-davie
Summary: Down for remodeling
1. The Sun Sets, Moons Rise

A/N: Aye, I've been playing with a story line like this for awhile now, and have a few different scenarios that I would like to try and script. The fate of the story is left uncertain thus far. Review, and I will write according to how readers react. Oh, Michelle is my own original character, but I highly doubt that I'll be having any more original characters than her. I really hate how limited I am on the description, I had a lot of things I wanted to put into it, but not a lot of room, so I'm going to post the original description in the front of every chapter.  
  
After faking her suicide following her brother's death, Michelle took her stallion to a different continent. There, the young Miss Potter learnt to suppress the pains that her Hogwarts years caused. But then she's forced back into the world of Magic, when she has been trying to live among muggles for the past twelve years, Michelle Potter returns to England to face her past, and confess to the friends who once mourned her death, the lie that she kept from them all.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 1, The Sun Sets, Moons Rise  
  
She rode bareback along the countryside bordering British Columbia and Alberta, just south of the Rocky Mountains. Her right arm was poorly bandaged, but Michelle Danielle Potter refused to feel pain. As long as she was numb, no pain could inflict itself upon her, nothing could break the barrier between her outer skin and her heart. Or so she liked to think, but it was a lie, one person had done what she had promised herself she would not let happen, and how she hated herself for it.  
  
Nineteen years of living in her brother's shadow had left Michelle fighting for her own independence. And as she rode across North America, she remembered to a certain degree, what she had told the headmistress of Hogwarts nearing the end of her fifth year.  
  
"What do you want to do?" Professor McGonagall had asked.  
  
"Leave England, ride across the Atlantic, find myself. Perhaps then my brother will think me more able," Michelle replied with an authorized dignity too mature for a fifteen year old.  
  
"I meant as a career, Miss Potter."  
  
"So did I," she whispered. She did not speak, back then, of her love of the written word. She dared not tell her Profs that the infamous James had a sister who was neither muggle nor witch.  
  
"If I had a choice," Michelle continued, "I would live among Muggles, without an ounce of Magic through my veins, but the Gods blessed me with a curse, and decided it would be fun to give me a brother like James. The divine creator has a twisted sense of humor, Professor, but I won't play to his perverted game."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore is worried," Professor McGonagall said, not noticing Michelle's previous comments. "Yes," she sighed, "it seems to be a growing trend. First Dumbledore, then Sirius, and now James. I am not like you, and sometimes I question whether I was really meant to be a witch."  
  
Her black hair flew animatedly behind her helmet. "Come on, Shadow," she whispered, "just a bit more."  
  
Her bay stallion was all she had left of her life. It seemed hard for Michelle to believe, but only six months prior, she was happily engaged, with a brother who had accepted her adventurous nature. But now, James was dead; his wife shared his same fate. But the fate of their son, Michelle was unsure, most likely to be raised by Evans's Muggle sister and husband, she thought dryly. At least he is safe, but vivid images forced themselves into her mind of abuse and neglect. No! Her mind screamed, no, he would not live like that, for he was the last living legacy of her brother.  
  
She pulled back on the reigns; the moon was glowing lightly as the sun set beneath earth. She found herself in a deserted clearing surrounded by nothing but trees. With the utmost ease, she slid her body to the ground. "Tonight, Shadow, this is were we stay."  
  
Shadow had been Michelle's loyal companion ever since the summer of her thirteenth year. She sat, staring up at the blue sky, watching James, Sirius, Peter and Remus fly lightly through the skies, free from a Muggles view. Sirius flew almost as well as James, Remus had to put effort into his flight to be at the same lazy level that James and Sirius were at, and Peter's flying was sloppy. But it was not the flying that intrigued Michelle, for, in her own words, anyone can fly, but it takes a writer to soar with the boundaries of imagination, it took integrity.  
  
Something then caught her eye; a gimpy creature limped out of the trees, into a clearing. An abandoned foal. At sight of her, their eyes met, and Michelle in one whoosh, experienced all the pain that this horse had ever felt. It was what she had felt for the first three years of her magic education, being Shadowed in James's unholy footsteps.  
  
"Shadow," she whispered. This bond was a deeper, stronger magic that Michelle had ever experience. She knew that she had to help him, lest he die of starvation or worst, loss of blood.  
  
"Oi! Pettigrew!" Michelle called. The pudgy boy flew over, and looked down at her with a disgusting scent of superiority. With one swift movement, Michelle knocked him, hitting him hard in the stomach with her foot. Such an attack, in normal circumstances, would have been useless, but Michelle sported heavy combat boots, deemed effective in such situations. He sat on the ground rubbing his head, and Michelle hovered above him on his very own broom, leaving him with the thought that not only had he been beaten by a girl, he had been beaten by a girl two years younger than he. "Thanks," she said, smiling.  
  
"Michelle," James called, taking notice of his sister, "Michelle!" It was a more urgent cry when she did not respond. "Get back here, Michelle, what are you doing?" He zoomed after her, and Michelle could feel his haunting presence, his broom was much better than Peter's was, and she was left to rely on the fact that she weighted was significantly less than James's. It would be enough to reach her Shadowed friend.  
  
Alas, it was not, she felt his grasp on her – not so much hers as it was Pettigrew's – broomstick. He was going to jump on, and wrestle her down to the ground. Then they will make me go home, except, James would never let me go home by myself, he would come, and Sirius would follow. Leaving Remus and Pettigrew alone here.  
  
"Over my dead body," she whispered, and jumped off her broom just as James jumped on. His own broom hovered for only an instant, and fell, completely abandoned by his rider. Like Shadow. He circled lazily, and landed in front of her. Except, James did not see the injured stallion, putting him at a disadvantage. Michelle often did things with no explanation, and had he known her reasons for flying half a kilometer to the end of their safe clearing, he would probably have stood before her and the stallion. But James assumed like all others did when Michelle acted this way, he assumed she was trying to escape.  
  
She pivoted right and ran as fast as she possibly could. A wave of untamed black hair following in her wake. The stallion met her eye, and he kneeled over as she ran with all her strength, he kneeled out of love.  
  
Michelle jumped on effortlessly, James running, only feet away from her, taken aback by what had just happened. Sirius had clued into this as well, and was already flying over to head he off. "Shadow," she whispered. And he whinnied in content. "Shadow," she whispered again, "take me to my home."  
  
A slow canter was all he could muster, but it was enough to get Michelle on the public roads. Feeling very much more powerful knowing that it would be impossible for James to follow her into the crowded streets of London using magical means of transportation.  
  
That was how Michelle and Shadow came to be. During her years at Hogwarts, however, the dawn of her departure, Michelle let Shadow free into the fields where they had found each other, and on the eve of her return, each year, Shadow could be found gracing her doorstep, yearning the be ridden along the countryside. And up until Voldemorte had risen, James had allowed it.  
  
A/N: Yes, yes, clever observation, this chapter is much more of a prologue than an actual chapter. An introductory feature honoring our young heroine. 


	2. Sweet Aroma of the August Months

A/N: Second chapter, yet again dedicated to Michelle. But I promise on my own grave, next few chapters you will see some real Harry Potter. And you will be very happy to know that I have decided an ending, and have the basic plot line figured out.  
  
After faking her suicide following her brother's death, Michelle took her stallion to a different continent. There, the young Miss Potter learnt to suppress the pains that her Hogwarts years caused. But then she's forced back into the world of Magic, when she has been trying to live among muggles for the past twelve years, Michelle Potter returns to England to face her past, and confess to the friends who once mourned her death, the lie that she kept from them all.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 2, Sweet Aroma of the August Months  
  
By Michelle's fifth year at Hogwarts, her anti social persona had erected from her. She could spend a day in the courtyard writing, and she would interact only if it was required. Though she was still beautiful, she was what some boys her year dreamed of: a mystery wrapped in a riddle, dipped into the unknown, sautéed in obscurity. Michelle Danielle Potter wanted nothing to do with her fellow fifth years, but some of them wanted everything to do with her.  
  
"Goodbye Shadow," she muttered, nuzzling his brow, "at Christmas, I promise you, we gallop further and harder than ever." She slid the reigns off his neck, and with the saddle, blanket and pad all resting on her right arm, with the girth, martin gale and bridle in the left hand, and freed him into the thick foliage where he was born.  
  
Twenty some years later, Michelle walked through her cabin bordering Canada and the United States. She had built it years ago when they had first settled down, after four years of riding the Atlantic shore lines.  
  
She stepped outside and whistled, just over the horizon she saw Shadow buck with his front hoofs before running towards her in a majestic trot that he always seemed to have. "The Daily Prophet" was clutched tightly in her hands; the ink was seeping into her pores slowly as the perspiration washed it off the paper. Sirius was dead. Voldemorte had returned, but none-the-less, Sirius was dead.  
  
"Shadow," she said, turning her head to cry on his shoulder, "this is why I left Great Britain, and now I did it in vein, I still hurt Shadow, and I am still a coward."  
  
The animal's simple emotions could not decipher why Michelle felt this way, but he knew what she felt.  
  
"You are the only part of England I dared to bring with me, and now you are all I have left," she whispered in his ear, still shedding her tears for the late Sirius Black.  
  
But that wasn't true, a small voice said inside her mind, that wasn't true at all, Harry was still in England, and he had yet to taste the sweet aroma of death. Voldemorte still hadn't killed everything she loved, and, Michelle thought, by God as my witness, if he so much as lays a hand on James's son, I will tear off every fucking limb off his body.  
  
Michelle tied Shadow up in the stable right next to her cabin; yet another building she had built with her own two hands. It smelt of dead rodents, as the packs of coyotes often used it for a shelter during the winter months when Shadow was moved to a heated stable. Due to energy and power bills, however, Michelle was reluctant to use that facility for him during summer, so his home was a small shack, normally home to packs of foxes, coyotes and wolves, however, for her horse's own security, there were padlock doors shut, locked and bolted to keep any wild animals out whilst Shadow was present.  
  
Back in her own house, Michelle sat down at her old Victorian desk, a prized possession that had once seen brighter days. In the desk's glory days, it would be introduced as Michelle's muse, and the keeper of her literature, but now her dreams of writing had long since faded, the desk was just a piece of the décor that Michelle just couldn't bring herself to part with. It sometimes served as a painful reminder of the days she had dreamed of riding across the world, and then writing about it as she went... or had it been when she finished riding? She could no longer remember these juvenile dreams.  
  
Slowly a letter began to devise in Michelle's mind, she had not picked up a pen for over two decades, and after James had died she had been completely content to cut herself off from the written world.  
  
Tears flooded her eyes once more as she remembered her fifth year at Hogwarts. Operating on no more than five hours of sleep a night, Michelle had kept her mind occupied by writing a series of short novels and poetry when the rest of the common room had gone to bed.  
  
The room stood ablaze as the last person emptied. Michelle sat alone in front of the warming glow of the flames writing a poem based on a the gift to Pandora given to her by the Greek God Zeus, a small box, she had been for warned never to open it, under any circumstances. However, like all legends go, this one had neither a happy, nor sad ending, instead it explained a great mystery to humanity. As Pandora opened the box, suffering and pain were released into the world like the swirl of a tornado; it destroyed everything in its path. The Gods were furious with Pandora, but the smallest voice came from the box once more, Pandora opened it, and hope was restored.  
  
The fifteen-year-old Michelle smiled, her eyes slightly glazed at the story. She loved Greek Mythology with an undying passion.  
  
"What are you writing?" A voice asked behind her, it startled Michelle enough to make her jump and let out a silent scream.  
  
"Just poetry," she murmured, not looking up from her paper, for she knew who it was, she always knew.  
  
Sirius walked up behind her, as if to look over her shoulder and see what she was writing, but Michelle covered the paper with her forearm out of reflex. She was normally very maternal about her writing.  
  
"It's always poetry," he said sounding slightly annoyed that she had covered it from view.  
  
"Not always," she said, turning back towards the fire, redrafting some of the earlier verses.  
  
"Oh?" he asked. Truth be told, Sirius rarely saw Michelle without some type of quill or parchment in hand, and it was almost always a poem, some form or another.  
  
"No, there are journals, and novels, but poetry I write if I think that a one Mister Black is going to be sneaking up behind me and scaring me half to death. Therefore it is only appropriate that you, young Sirius, think that I only write poetry, but truth, be it as it may, I only ever write poetry around yourself, and never anything else."  
  
"Quite," he said, not pretending to understand what she had said. "But, honestly, where does James's younger sister come off calling me 'young Sirius'?"  
  
"Simply that," she sighed, now turning, for the first time to face him, "you are young, and just because you are young does not mean I am not."  
  
"James wants to know why you insist on not sleeping," Sirius said, changing the subject, "to put it in his own words, there was a bit more grunting involved."  
  
"You may tell James, that next time he wishes to speak to me, he can do so directly, or else I just might have to be forced to kill the messenger," she replied, grinning sheepishly.  
  
"Aw, come on, Michelle Potter, younger sister of the Gryffindor seeker by two years, you honestly want to contemplate killing the very innocent, and very handsome, but very innocent messenger?"  
  
"You leave my family tree out of this, Sirius Black, and I will return the favor," she said, her eyes glaring at him. Had they been blades, they would have killed him seven times over before he had actually died. She got up and headed out of the common room  
"Have I touched a soft spot, then?" Sirius called to her as she made her way up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, "have I found a delicate surface on the alligator's hide?"  
  
"No," she turned around and faced him, grinning still, "I'm just tired, goodnight; don't you have bad dreams now, Sirius." He turned and left, "don't you have bad dreams," Michelle whispered softly to the walls of the fortress. 


	3. Sweet Sixteen

A/N: Just like I promised, a chapter actually dedicated to an original character from the book. Although, take my word for it, Michelle does in deed tie into the story, somehow (not sure how yet). Anyways, I try to type 1500 words a night, which is a little bit more than a chapter, but I'm usually typing things in the chapters to come. Why? Because, that's just how I work, I write the middle, then the beginning, then some more to the climax, then I put in the ending, and then I finish the beginning. It's really an interesting process. (I like how I ramble on and on and on)  
  
After faking her suicide following her brother's death, Michelle took her stallion to a different continent. There, the young Miss Potter learnt to suppress the pains that her Hogwarts years caused. But then she's forced back into the world of Magic, when she has been trying to live among muggles for the past twelve years, Michelle Potter returns to England to face her past, and confess to the friends who once mourned her death, the lie that she kept from them all.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 3, Sweet Sixteen  
  
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Harry lay on his back throwing a ball up and down, partly hypnotized by the movement of the rubber sphere. His door was locked, and had been for the majority of the summer, all too much to the Dursley's delight. Ever since the less than appropriate interlude with Mad Eye, Uncle Vernon wanted absolutely nothing to do with Harry, and Harry was inclined to agree to a certain extent, he didn't want to ever look at his relatives, not if his life depended on it.  
  
Today was his sixteenth birthday, and although his aunt and uncle always forgot about it, it had completely slipped Harry's mind as well, if it hadn't been for a storm of birthday cards and cakes making their way through his window. Last year, however, there had been an additional birthday card and cake sent to him by his Godfather. The thought nearly made Harry cry, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Somehow, he thought that if Sirius or his dad knew that he felt like crying, they'd think him soft.  
  
Hedwig landed happily on his shoulder, hooting for praise as she dropped a dead rat beside his bed. Not seeming to notice what he was doing, Harry brushed to rat to the ground, and grumbled a lapse of inhuman like noises. Insulted, Hedwig flew off, leaving Harry to be by himself.  
  
Pig flew into Harry's room, and hooting excitedly like a child on a sugar buzz, dropped a white envelope in Harry's lap. Not wanting to break his routine of tossing the ball and catching it, Harry let it stay there. Pig nipped at his shoulder, dazed and confused. His dominant instinct knew that he wanted water, but Pig the domesticated side of Pig thought that it was more important to nip at Harry, to make sure he was all right. He was, after all Master's good friend.  
  
"Get off me, Pig," Harry said, pushing him away with his free hand, continuing still to through the ball up and down and back up.  
  
Somewhere between throws, Harry fell into a restless sleep, something that he had tried to avoid since the incident in the department of mysteries, for he knew what would haunt his dreams.  
  
"No!" He screamed, his hand outstretched, trying to hold onto Sirius. They were on top of Big Ben, and Sirius was tangling by a thread, and Harry tried to hoist him back onto the clock's surface, which had somehow morphed into a large whale.  
  
"You're weak Harry!" Sirius cried back, "you're soft, you spend all day and night crying, Harry, you're weak, you're soft, you spend all day and night crying, Harry!"  
  
No!" Wept Harry, he was wailing by now, but his tears, usually salty and harmless were pelting down on the earth. Sirius was still dangling from atop of Big Ben, but Harry was a giant. The town's children threw stones at him, which broke the skin on his knees. Harry the giant wailed some more, and the world began to flood. He took his giant strides over towards Sirius, thrilled to know that his size could save his Godfather. Except, every step Harry took, the world got bigger around him, and every step he took, he got smaller and smaller, until he was drowning in his own giant tears.  
  
"You're weak, you're soft, Harry Potter!" They all sang around him. Then, out of nowhere, a banshee cry could be heard. It ran up to Harry, who was now lying on his bed and shook him furiously.  
  
Harry opened his eyes to hear the banshee cry some more.  
  
"WHAT IS A DEAD RAT DOING ON MY FLOOR?" It wailed.  
  
Harry, now fully aware of the situation bolted upright. The rat that Hedwig had brought back for him was lying just decimeters from Aunt Petunia's feet, and she was yelping so loudly, Harry was sure that it made the Shrieking Shack seem like a relatively dormant house, even in it's most lively years.  
  
A rumbling beneath him gave Harry the impression that he had just experience a rather small earthquake. He was convinced of this until he realized that it was just Uncle Vernon booming up the stairs to see what all the noise was about.  
  
"Petunia," he said loudly, loud enough to be heard over her dog like yelps.  
  
"A rat, Vernon, he's brought a dead rat into our home!"  
  
"Boy!" Vernon exploded, "what is this, this supposed to be funny! Is this your lot's idea of a joke? Well, you mark my words; while you're here you will bring no magic and no dead rodents with you! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"  
  
"Yes," Harry answered dully, looking at Aunt Petunia's horror stricken face, "yea, I do." He grumbled.  
  
Just then Dudley waddled in. Though, since the diet that had begun during the summer between his fourth year and fifth year, Dudley had diminished significantly in size, but seemed to make up for that weight loss in temper. He demanded more than Harry could ever remember from his parents, and Petunia, so proud of him for sticking to it, showered him with presents, oblivious to the fact that Dudley was slowly gaining some weight back due to the lack of awareness of what they allowed him to eat. "Let him have some beacon," Petunia had said last Sunday, and the Sunday before that she had made him a giant cheese omelet with no less than nine eggs in it. Pop can now littered the driveway once again, and Harry, through no fault of his own, was now beginning to recognize Dudley's clothes, albeit smaller than his original clothing, was beginning to tighten around his fat belly.  
  
"What happened?" He asked, a dry string of drool hanging from his face, "why is mom yelling?"  
  
"Duddey!" Aunt Petunia purred, "go back to the kitchen and have a slice of the cake Aunt Marge sent for your birthday, pumpkin."  
  
Harry could hardly hold his laughter. His aunt still treated her son like a child, when a more intelligent mother would have tossed a boy like Dudley out on the street. But she seemed to tell herself over and over, every time the police brought Dudley back from either smoking or stealing, that it was the other boys' faults. Dudley, she would say, would never act like that on his own free will. Somehow telling herself this, it seemed to help her to sleep with a guilt free conscience anyways.  
  
"No," he said defiantly, stomping his enormous feet, "I want to see."  
  
"No, sweetie pie, Dudley, NO!" She shrieked even louder than before, as he pushed his way past her and started fondling the dead rat.  
  
"Vernon! DO SOMETHING!" Aunt Petunia screamed at him, trying to fight Dudley away with her frail body.  
  
And in fact, Uncle Vernon did do something. As a result, Harry stood out his window, watching a discouraged Hedwig trying to peck her way through. Vernon had locked his window, swearing on the Holy Father, that if Harry even so much as thought of breaking the glass to let his owl inside, he would regret it until his dying day, which, coincidently, would be a lot sooner than normal if he did indeed break the glass. "It's no use," Harry said, though he knew she would not be able to understand him.  
  
Pig was still hiding under the covers, and had been since all the commotion about the dead rat had taken place. Ron's owl was now trapped inside Harry's house with no visible way of escape. He thought bitterly at what Ron might go through, torment, wondering whether Pig was all right. Wondering if Harry was all right, for Harry had not sent either Ron, or Hermione a letter since their train departure; it was just too depressing to even think about it.  
  
Harry turned and saw that the letter Pig had brought remained unopened. Slowly, with quivering hands, Harry picked up the letter, and read it silently to himself, but shutting his eyes so tightly that it stung. He let the tears he'd been fighting out, as he slumped back on his bed in a heap of flesh and blood.  
  
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A/N: Next chapter is about Michelle, and I'll try and get it up either later tonight or tomorrow night. Thank you God Almighty for the weekend. 


	4. A Dagger's Stab, The Ring's Defeat

A/N: I am well aware of the fact that this is very slowly moving along. Two reasons, and the first one being that I don't won't to, in any way "butcher" was J.K. Rowling has written. And moving a story along too fast doesn't do anyone any favors in the long run. Secondly, I still have yet to figure out where this is going, I know what Michelle's basic role will be, but I need to find a good plot line to really develop in the early chapters.  
  
After faking her suicide following her brother's death, Michelle took her stallion to a different continent. There, the young Miss Potter learnt to suppress the pains that her Hogwarts years caused. But then she's forced back into the world of Magic, when she has been trying to live among muggles for the past twelve years, Michelle Potter returns to England to face her past, and confess to the friends who once mourned her death, the lie that she kept from them all.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 3, A Dagger's Stab, The Ring's Defeat  
  
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The scars along Michelle's left forearm and wrist had all but disappeared. The wounds had only healed skin deep, for it still pained her to see the unholy reminder of her fifth year at Hogwarts.  
  
"Unconscious," a fifteen year young Michelle could hear her Transfiguration teacher saying lowly to the Headmaster. "They found her lying on the floor in the common room, blood all around her."  
  
"Curious," Professor Dumbledore said in a low voice, "had this been a Muggle institution, she would have been beyond help."  
  
"That is true for many of the accidents in this school, though, Headmaster," Professor McGonagall said slowly, letting the words bleed slightly.  
  
"You make the mistake of thinking this as an accident, Minerva, Miss Potter inflicted these knife wounds on herself, and that is what threatens the situation at hand."  
  
"Indeed, it will prove a challenge to protect someone from them selves; wouldn't it?" Minerva asked steadily, her watchful eye not faltering.  
  
"One can only try," Dumbledore sighed, and left the hospital wing.  
  
Michelle lay in the hospital bed overnight, staring up at the ceiling. Her cheeks were smothered in dry tears, and her arm hurt more than ever. It stung, it seemed, more predominantly at night, when all her other senses were trying to rest. She had not understood what had happened only twenty- four hours ago. The knife she had used was a dagger purchased the previous summer from a Muggle shop just north of London. All year, she had saved up her money, and in Diagon Alley, whilst buying her school supplies; she exchanged all her money saved thus far for Muggle currency. One hundred and seventy pounds worth of wizard gold, now British currency had found itself in Michelle's pocket. Later that night, closer to three in the morning, to be exact, Michelle climbed out of her window, and rode Shadow through the forest.  
  
She'd found the shop selling daggers, imitating old pirate weapons, shelling over only fifty pounds the man clad in black; she thanked him, and was on her way. She suspected that this was not a legal transaction that she had made, and was prepared to cross paths with Muggle law enforcers. If they chased her, she would run, and her habit of running was not a habit that Michelle would shake with the years to come.  
  
The overall length of the dagger was thirty-six centimeters, while the length of the actual blade was twenty-three. Michelle found herself musing with the idea that it looked like a rather wide, flat cat's claw on the ride home. The next day, Michelle found herself riding towards a small market in the center of London, where she convinced a young man to carve "claw" in the nightmarish black handle. He took the money eagerly, and asked no questions about the blade, or it's whereabouts, giving Michelle the overall impression that it was a typical event in London, England.  
  
She had uneasy dreams that night of what her parents would react to the news, that had almost certainly reached them by now. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought of how James might react; perhaps she could throw him into a state of denial, and convince him that it actually had been an accident.  
  
But James was no idiot, he would believe the story that her left wrist told, and it was written plainly for everybody to see: "ATTEMPTED SUICIDE".  
  
Back in her study, twenty some years later, Michelle clenched her armed harshly, it still stung sometimes in the nighttime. It was sensitive, after all. It was well past midnight, and the shooting pains up her left arm had all but ceased. Perhaps it was the news of Sirius's death that had set it off, perhaps it was sensitive to her emotional angst, it would make sense.  
  
Convinced that she would get no sleep that night, Michelle slipped out of bed and reread the letter that she had drafted earlier that day.  
  
Professor Dumbledore,  
  
Should you remember me; then I perhaps have some news of interest for yourself, and the rest of the Order. Voldemorte has resurrected, it was only a matter of time, and you've known this day would come since he was destroyed by a child fifteen-years ago. Now that the British Ministry has accepted this fact, it will surely make life easier for the order, and I must say that news of Mr. Black's death pained me more than any death has ever done. (Indeed, including the one of my brother's.) I am Michelle Danielle Potter, if you remember my attempted suicide in year five at Hogwarts, and then my suicide when I was nineteen, right after James died. I suppose that I am to offer proof of my identity to you, I would expect that Harry's safety is the primary concern of yours momentarily, and introducing someone who was supposed to be dead for a decade and a half back into the world has a certain risk factor to it. Therefore, I am enclosing my most prized possession in this letter, and once you know that I tell the truth, I ask that it be returned to me, for it is a friendly reminder of brighter days.  
  
Sincerely yours, Michelle Potter  
  
After reading and rereading the letter over four or five times, Michelle whistled lightly, and a white and black Burrowing Owl swooped into her room, by her side. She ruffled his feathers, and kissed him gently on the beak.  
  
"I have a delivery for you, Tawny, if you choose to accept it," Michelle said smiling. Her small collection of animals made her happy, it reminded her of her Hogwarts years.  
  
Tawny cooed affectionately, rubbing her side against Michelle index finger and thumb, purring like a calico kitten.  
  
"It's a long one, mind," Michelle continued, scratching Tawny's side, "think you can get this to Professor Dumbledore?"  
  
Tawny looked at her, she did not quite understand the request. Never had she been sent on a messaging journey across seas, and even when she did deliver letters, it was so rare that she could only remember one time actually sending a letter.  
  
Slowly Michelle pulled off a sixteen-year-old diamond engagement ring. A beautiful cut diamond with a pair of cut sapphires accenting it. It had been beautiful in its prime, but now it's worth was dropping significantly, but the sentimental value continued to rise.  
  
"Be careful with this," Michelle whispered, dropping the ring into an envelope with the letter wrapped around it.  
  
Tawny cooed again, this time out of respect for her owner. She knew where to go. It would be a journey of several weeks, and her master knew it, Tawny could feel Michelle's anxiety building up as she prepped herself to send her on her way. It would be dangerous, and if the letter was to be intercepted, unlikely, but not unthinkable, then the Order would be put at a direct disadvantage, and Michelle's last legacy of Sirius would be lost for an eternity. Tawny could feel Michelle wondering whether she should saddle up Shadow and take the letter herself, but Michelle feared something that Tawny did not understand, she feared that her presence could upset someone, though Tawny did not recognize whom.  
  
No, Michelle thought sharply, no, I mustn't go myself, Tawny has yet to prove herself unreliable, and it's not as though they are expecting me to send Dumbledore a letter. If they were anticipating such an action, things would be different, but I am dead to their world, and they have long since forgotten about me.  
  
Who "they" were, Tawny was unsure, but she suspected that "they" were bad people, who had caused her master pain and frustration, perhaps "they" had caused the death of "him", another individual who Tawny could feel when Michelle thought of, but did not know who he was. 


	5. Shadowed Thoughts

A/N: I like this chapter, I don't know why. Notice the complexity of Shadow's thoughts? They're so human-like, while Tawny's were so primitive. Sorry, sometimes I just like to point simple things like that out. Oh, I decided it would be fun to leave it at a cliffhanger, but I didn't word it properly, so it really lost a lot of the affect.  
  
After faking her suicide following her brother's death, Michelle took her stallion to a different continent. There, the young Miss Potter learnt to suppress the pains that her Hogwarts years caused. But then she's forced back into the world of Magic, when she has been trying to live among muggles for the past twelve years, Michelle Potter returns to England to face her past, and confess to the friends who once mourned her death, the lie that she kept from them all.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 5, Shadowed Thoughts  
  
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A black and white owl dropped on his desk. The wings of the bird were bleeding slightly, and it looked as though some feathers had been torn out.  
  
Tawny twitched mercifully, for she had been brutally attacked by a fox while scouring a small valley for food. He had clamped his jaws around her left wing, while she tried wildly to fly away, resulting in the significant loss of blood and feathers. Perhaps if she had no master, then her primal instincts would have dominated over her loyalty, but Michelle needed this letter delivered, and her ring could not be lost.  
  
Dumbledore stared at the small owl, then saw the letter still tied tightly to its right leg. Relieving it of its package, Dumbledore's eyes shown in bewilderment to feel that the letter was unusually heavy, almost as if it had a rock in it.  
  
Opening the envelope, the ring fell to the ground and made a hollow clunking noise. Taking no notice of it at first, he began to slowly skim the contents of Michelle's letter.  
  
Tawny could feel him and his fingers unconsciously scratched her head. He felt confused, very confused, slightly skeptical as well, but the prime emotion was confusion. Then, Tawny thought, he began to feel a little sad, as if he was remembering a happy memory and knew that it was only a memory, a distant dream of ages ago.  
  
"Curious," Dumbledore muttered, chewing as though he had a piece of spitting tobacco wedged between his teeth.  
  
"So, she's been alive this entire time, completely ducked beneath the Ministry's radar."  
  
Tawny assumed that when Dumbledore said "she", he was referring to Michelle. She could feel the same sad emotions in Dumbledore's touch as she could feel sometimes through Michelle's. Perhaps it was the same memory that they shared, the same distant feeling of prolonging.  
  
The ring, Tawny thought urgently, he has not come to notice Master's ring. Tawny understood that the ring was important to Michelle, though she did not understand why. She knew that it made Michelle cry sometimes, to look at it when it was on her hand, and that Michelle looked at it a lot more when she thought Shadow wasn't watching. But Master did not put the faith in Tawny as she put in Shadow, Master did not realize that Tawny understood some human feelings, and that she could sometimes feel human feelings that she did not understand.  
  
Dumbledore met Tawny's eye, almost as if he knew that the owl was trying to pry him open and spill him all over the desk. When their eyes met, Tawny saw a twinkle, and it scared her. She closed her eyes, willing, wishing that he'd take notice to the ring.  
  
But he did not.  
  
Instead, Dumbledore put the letter aside, pulled out his wand, and uttering some human words, Tawny no longer felt pain in her left side. In fact, Tawny no longer felt pain at all, she felt her eyes closing the world around her, even though she did not wish them to.  
  
**************************************************************  
  
Michelle walked the length of her room, it had been several weeks since she had sent Tawny on her mission, and despite the fact that she'd known that it would be a long time before she got a reply, she hadn't thought it would be that long. Her left hand felt naked, as though a part of it was missing. It no longer felt weighed down, and that thought was disconcerting slightly, and as she paced through her cabin, she thought herself insane for sending such a precious item halfway across the world.  
  
Shadow reared and bucked unpleasantly, Michelle, he knew, was feeling anxious, and she was so unsure of her actions. Day by day Shadow felt the anxiety and depression grow in his friend, his good friend. She was reminiscing more than ever about everything she had left behind, and Shadow knew that she even blamed herself at times for recent events.  
  
The stallion knew of Sirius's death, he had liked Sirius, some might even say love, but whatever he felt towards Sirius had nearly disappeared after fifteen years away from him, but Shadow knew that Michelle did not share that same outlook. If anything, Michelle missed him more with every passing moment of her life, and it had become harder for her, since his death, because Shadow suspected that a part of her always thought that she would go back one more time. Now it was too late, Sirius's time had set, and Michelle could no longer hold onto the unlikely dream of ever seeing him again.  
  
Michelle, walked out of her home, her steps were strong and purposeful, as they always were. She reached her tack for Shadow's bridle, and grabbed it with unholy force  
  
She whistled lightly to the horizon, she could see Shadow moving in an ungodly fashion, as if something was tormenting him, a pest that he could not free himself from. To her beck and call, Shadow's ears perked, and steered his strides towards home. As he grew closer, his pace quickened and smoothed itself over. It was no longer the painful movements that he had been forcing his body into minutes before.  
  
"Easy, boy," she whispered as he stood in front of her, "I just want to get away, that's all."  
  
He let her slip the bridle on without objection, opening his mouth and allowing the bit to be sandwiched in his mouth. He knelt down, for he saw no saddle; he liked it when she rode him bareback. Having her warm body moving in complete harmony with his rhythm, it was something that he would not have traded for the world.  
  
She squeezed his sides with her upper legs, but had to do no more, for Shadow could sense Michelle's silent urgent cries. He could feel her need to run away, he had felt this need before, but this time, he knew, they would be returning home.  
  
In a way, Shadow missed England; he had been foaled and cared for in the heart on Great Britain. He had grown to love and trust Michelle's Sirius, and he had become acquainted with James, a man with the same touch and scent as Michelle, but he lacked her passion. Shadow and James were similar in the sense that neither really liked the other, but they trusted one another to a great extent. Their priorities were not much different, for they both seemed to pride themselves in keeping Michelle safe from any harm, and liked to keep her close by. And when James had died, Shadow felt that his own life was in mortal danger, for he and James were so alike. Shadow had become the lone ski, trying to get its owner down the mountain safely, without its parallel twin to help guide them along. Shadow had become a snowboard.  
  
The trees were green with life, and the flowers, past their prime, were still colorful, just not vibrant as they had once been. But everything around Michelle reminded her of her home. She still called England home, it was comforting knowing that it still had a place in her heart, and although she tried not to remember what happy had once meant to her, for it had a new definition now, it was hard at times.  
  
Michelle insides churched unhappily, as she realized that she was running again. She had left England so she wouldn't have to run, wouldn't have to feel pain. But she was still running; it all seemed useless.  
  
"Shadow," she cried so suddenly, that she shocked the horse beneath her, "please, I can't do this again."  
  
Shadow understood, not so much her words, but her tone. She wanted to go back, and back she would go. He turned around elegantly, and retraced his steps delicately, taking her home safely, James would have been proud.  
  
Michelle dismounted with an impatient furry, and Shadow felt guilt and hurt splash over his entire body like a title wave against the rocks lining the ocean shores.  
  
Michelle ran into the cabin, leaving Shadow bridled, standing in all his glory, watching her. She was looking for something, perhaps she was looking for Tawny, but Shadow knew that Tawny had flown away ages ago, and had not yet returned. Perhaps, Shadow thought, Michelle has forgotten that Tawny left, perhaps she needs Tawny, and Tawny is not around. This left Shadow with the thought of why the owl had left, why?  
  
Michelle spun into her kitchen, and let out a scream so violent that it made Shadow want to break the walls to retrieve her. Something was in her kitchen, and Michelle could hardly believe her eyes.  
  
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A/N: OK, the next chapter is another Michelle chapter, but then after that I am getting Michelle into the world of Hogwarts, so to speak, so much more Harry Potter and co. action in the chapters to come.  
  
Scratch that thought, next chapter is to Harry, Ron and Hermione, then the one after that is for Michelle, and then we'll take it from there. (Yes, I plan ahead...to an extent at least.) 


	6. Echoes in the Wind

A/N: Haha, something ACTUALLY happens in this chapter. And I know that you all want to know what is in Michelle's kitchen, and I know that it has been a little while since I last updated, but that was because I was writing four chapters at the same time (multi task.) Anyways, the Michelle/Kitchen chapter will be coming out tomorrow night, I hope. Oh, yes, the description HAS changed, because the previous one didn't seem terribly appealing. Not enough Harry Potter and Co.  
  
Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts with his friends. But things have changed for him since his God Father's death last year, and he is beginning to feel the repercussions. Slowly Harry fights internal conflicts, and Ron and Hermione begin to worry about him. Then one day when Harry disappears in the middle of the night, is he just following in the footsteps of his aunt, or is there foul play afoot?  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 6, Echoes in the Wind  
  
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"He looks just like his father, but he's got Lily's eyes," the voices echoed in Harry's thoughts. How many times had someone told that to him? Too many to count. And with the growing realization that had started last year ever since he had witnessed Snape's "worst memory", he was beginning to come to terms with the fact that he was neither one of his parents. It left him feeling empty and lost, years before when people had marveled at his uncanny resemblance to James, Harry had been more than happy to imagine that he must like his father in more ways than just appearance.  
  
If it had not been for Mad Eye Moody's threat weeks ago, after being picked up from the Hogwarts express, Harry doubted if Uncle Vernon would have let the owl back in the house. And after much protest, Hedwig was allowed indoors every three days, only for the appropriate amount of time that it would take Harry to attach a letter to her leg and let her off.  
  
Harry finished his most recent letter and read it over.  
  
Dear Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Order I'm doing fine—(thanks for the cakes, Mrs. Weasley.) Looking forward to next semester, and hoping to be able to play Quidditch. I'm loaded down with homework presently, and nothing else really to say. I hope to see you all at Diagon Alley in a few weeks. From, Harry.  
  
Yes, he thought, that seemed mild enough. He didn't want Missus Weasley fussing over him due to Sirius's recent death, and he was sure he didn't want anyone thinking that he'd been spending the entire summer locked up in his room, staring, simply fascinated with the veins in his wrists. It was hypnotic in a poetic sense.  
  
"No," he whispered to the wall, "no, Sirius, I'm not like James, am I?"  
  
At time Harry felt upset with his late Godfather, upset that he'd come into his life, and upset that he had left so abruptly.  
  
"Damn this," he whispered, "damn it all to hell."  
  
Harry got up and trudged down the stairs, something that he liked to avoid doing. But the fact was that the human body needed to be nourished every few hours or so, and he was a slave to the grumbling in his stomach.  
  
"What are you doing?" Aunt Petunia shrieked, startled by his appearance in the kitchen.  
  
"I'm hungry," he grumbled.  
  
"Cucumber in the fridge," she said, "Duddey was going to have it, but he's been so good on his diet—"  
  
Harry fought the urge to laugh as he watched Dudley wallow in his own fat, gorging his piggy little face on glazed doughnuts. The diet had ended, and Dudley's health, heart and mass had returned to their original state.  
  
Harry rummaged through the fridge and took the cucumber, and getting a chair from himself, sat across from his cousin.  
  
The summer was only a month spent, and Harry would have to endure another month with his closest relatives. Albeit, in Ron's previous letter he had mentioned Harry coming to spend time with him, but right now, Harry didn't particularly want to see Ron or Hermione. Not that he was mad at them, to say the least, but they reminded him so much of the fateful night in the Department of Mysteries, and every time he looked into their pleading eyes, he wanted to die, he wanted so many things right now.  
  
Harry met Dudley's eyes, then the eyes of Vernon, who had wandered in. Both glares spelt hate. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled himself up, grabbed his small portion of cucumber and slumped up the stairs to his room.  
  
Harry picked up his letter and let Hedwig into the house, she nipped and swooped around him happily, knowing that past events had caused him trouble and pain. Before he could attach the letter to her leg, though, she flew to her water and drank thirstily. Harry looked up from his cucumber, only to see a black and white owl fluttering in. He had never seen this owl before in his life, though he assumed that it could only be from Professor McGonagall with his school last.  
  
Alas, no. Tawny swooped down and perched herself next to Harry, he did indeed look like Master's own child. His aura was inviting and warm, and Tawny felt safe with him, as she felt safe when she was with Master.  
  
Tawny knew that this was Harry, the boy who Master sometimes thought of when she thought of James, or "him". And Tawny trusted that this Harry, whom ever he may be, would return Master's ring to her, for he was like Dumbledore, this ring would mean something to him.  
  
"What you got there?" Harry asked, unwrapping Tawny's claws to reveal a small ring. He had never seen this in his life, and Harry for the first time felt very exposed, knowing that it could be a trap.  
  
"Sorry, it's not mine, must belong to someone else," Harry muttered, trying to shoo the owl away.  
  
No! Tawny thought furiously, I know who's it is, but you must find her, and give it to her.  
  
"Get out of here," Harry practically shouted, but didn't for fear that his voice would carry downstairs.  
  
Tawny nipped at him, trying to make him understand what she was trying to say. This was Master's engagement ring, she he taken it to Dumbledore and he took no notice of it, so now she brought it to Harry, Master's own kin. Tawny knew that he would find Master and give it to her, he had to, or else Master's Sirius would be lost forever. Or at least, the last part of Sirius she had left, Tawny had heard Master say.  
  
Harry caved in, not knowing what he should do with this persistent owl. His eyes watered as he realized that under normal circumstances he would have sent a letter to Sirius explaining the odd behavior. But Sirius was dead. Who else could he send this owl to?  
  
Lupin.  
  
The answer came through like floodgates, Lupin would help him.  
  
"OK," Harry said slowly, "I don't know who you are trying to send this to, but listen, it's not mine, and I don't know who's it is. So, I need you to send this ring and this letter to Professor Remus Lupin, he'll take care of you.  
  
Harry waved a blank piece of parchment in front of the owl, and began to attach both to her leg. Tawny was smart, for an owl at least, and knew there was something wrong. She knew Remus Lupin, Master sometimes thought of him too, but not as much as Sirius or James, not nearly as much.  
  
Write something! Tawny thought urgently, you need to write to him, tell him what you are doing!  
  
But Harry took no notice to the fact that he was about to send Tawny off with a blank piece of paper instead of a letter; he seemed dazed and confused, as if he was in another planet. 


	7. A Messenger's Return

A/N: Good news! This here marks the end of the stupid introduction chapters. Yes, yes, you heard me correctly. Stupid. But, continuing on, what I mean to say is that next chapter, and the chapters to follow I can connect my characters together, all of my characters. That's a piece of good news, is it not?  
  
Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts with his friends. But things have changed for him since his God Father's death last year, and he is beginning to feel the repercussions. Slowly Harry fights internal conflicts, and Ron and Hermione begin to worry about him. Then one day when Harry disappears in the middle of the night, is he just following in the footsteps of his aunt, or is there foul play afoot?  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 7, A Messengers Return  
  
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"Christ Almighty," Michelle gasped, staring at Dumbledore, "you scared the bloody Mary out of me."  
  
"Quite," he said, his eyes still twinkling the infamous Albus twinkle. "I wanted to speak to you in person..."  
  
"Which explains..." Michelle said slowly, "why Tawny has taken so long, can I offer you some tea, Professor, or perhaps something harder, got some bloody good rum, and vodka shots could make a discussion like this so much more entertaining."  
  
"Tea sounds excellent, thank you, Miss Potter," he said, taking a seat at her small oak kitchen table.  
  
"Now, Professor, I have known you since I was eleven, are formalities a necessity, honestly?"  
  
"Michelle, there is a lot to discuss..."  
  
"Yes, yes, I assumed as much. Harry thinking his aunt is dead, everyone thinking I'm dead, come to think of it, Voldemorte's rise, resurrection if you will," Michelle spewed on, pouring herself and Dumbledore some tea.  
  
"That's the problem...no one ever told Harry James had a sister-"the teacup and saucer came smashing to the floor from Michelle's shaking hands.  
  
"Oh..." she said quietly, "yes, that is something to discuss, please, please continue."  
  
"We've all kept so much from him, I didn't want to explain you to him until he was...older. Old enough to understand, but when he was old enough, I just couldn't bring myself to do it..."  
  
Michelle nodded, "you wanted to tell him when he was fifteen because that was when I first tried to..." she trailed off, focusing on his blank expression, "that was when I first proved myself old enough to handle such things." She finished quietly.  
  
"But then," she continued, "Sirius died, and you hadn't the heart to tell him that Sirius wasn't the only person once in Harry's life who could have ever been the parent that Harry never knew. It's understandable, but Professor Dumbledore, you need to tell him."  
  
"Michelle, you are alive, and I've told Remus, and Alastor, and the rest of the staff. You need to come back to England, Michelle; you've spent too long out here. I want you in my employ," Dumbledore said, sipping at his coffee.  
  
Michelle's immaturity dominated her mind for only seconds, before she took the time to comprehend what Dumbledore was asking of her.  
  
"There's only Defense Against the Dark Arts, available, am I correct in thinking so, Professor?" Michelle said, relaxing into a chair across from Albus.  
  
Dumbledore nodded, "yes you are, Miss Potter, indeed you are."  
  
"And you're asking me to, what exactly?"  
  
"Come back to England, Michelle, until the Order is working as strongly as it was last time, we are going to need you."  
  
Michelle relaxed in her seat, allowing her hair to flow gently down the back of the chair. She nodded, knowing what he wanted. Michelle realized that it was not so much the fact that he wanted her, he just wanted a Potter, and she was the only one left who was over eighteen. James had done brilliant things for the Order, Michelle remembered, though she never was in it herself, she was aware of their work. This had once been James's war to fight, but now it was her own.  
  
"Very well..." Michelle said slowly, "I will come back to England, and I will work at Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, however Dumbledore, once the Order is strong and has the resources and support of the Ministry that it once had, I am returning here."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, "I assumed as much, anything else?"  
  
"I don't want to be the one to explain to Harry why no one ever told him his father had a sister who was engaged to his Godfather."  
  
"I will accept that as my responsibility as well, Michelle, is that all you want?"  
  
"And I'm teaching the class my way."  
  
Dumbledore merely nodded, "and what does 'your way' consist of?"  
  
"Absolutely no theory or wand work, the students need to learn to react based on their primal instincts. I might also add that Shadow will be my one and only method of transportation."  
  
"Fair enough," and with a flicker of his wand, Dumbledore drew up a contract with a long white quill floating beside it in midair, "signature at the bottom, if you will."  
  
Michelle skimmed to contract and signed a loopy signature at the bottom; no sooner had she done so, Dumbledore's signature magically appeared on the line below it.  
  
"You knew I'd sign it, didn't you, Professor, that's why you signed it before hand."  
  
"You catch on fast, don't make the mistake in thinking that your actions are completely unpredictable," he winked and crooked his lips slightly, "I'll see you in September."  
  
There was a slight popping noise, and Dumbledore was gone from her sight, returning to England, to Hogwarts, perhaps, Michelle thought.  
  
"You'll see me sooner than that, Professor," she responded to the popping noise the stealth had created.  
  
Michelle walked the plank of her front deck, Shadow stood still, staring at her, his bridle still binding his mouth. With a pace worthy of the word 'brisk', Michelle walked towards him and grabbed onto his mane, "We ride light," she whispered in his ear. It twitched at the warmth of her breath and voice as she pulled herself onto his dark back.  
  
"We're going home, Shadow, we're going home."  
  
Shadow had expected to hear these words sooner than today, fifteen years later. When he first arrived in the American land, he had desperate hopes that Michelle would climb on him and they would travel back to England, but each passing day the hope faded a little bit more, and each passing day it seemed more and more unlikely that Michelle would climb on him and give him the signal to go back, and never return.  
  
When Sirius had died, the little hope that lingered on, the little hope that had survived fourteen years of doubt died with him. For he and she both knew that Sirius was the only thing drawing her back, but when that strand was cut loose, the desire to return left Michelle, and Shadow had felt it.  
  
Michelle felt Shadow gallop across acres of land, it was her hope to get back to England without magic by the coming of the school year, but if that proved to be impossible, then she would use her wand to get them the rest of the way there. She'd long since come to terms with the fact that she would be using magic to cross the ocean, but other than that, Michelle wanted it to be a magic free journey. 


	8. Journey Home

A/N: Thank you to the reviews. Responding to a couple of them, the chapters are flooded with flashbacks of Michelle's childhood, giving you the pleasure of getting to know her past a little bit better. I have yet to master the fine art of italicizing documents on fanfiction, so in the mean time, I usually just come out and say something like "a fifteen year old Michelle yadda yadda yadda." Just remember that Michelle isn't going to do anything magical, not yet at least, she's lived as a Muggle for the past fifteen years, and is most reluctant to go home. Secondly, I promise you that by the end Michelle and Harry are going to have this love hate relationship, and if I do my job correctly, you the readers are going to be absolutely hating Michelle by the end, she is a coward, but the worst has yet to be documented. Of course, she is strong, and when she feels she is needed, or is threatened, that she is going to react with enormous force and strength.  
  
Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts with his friends. But things have changed for him since his God Father's death last year, and he is beginning to feel the repercussions. Slowly Harry fights internal conflicts, and Ron and Hermione begin to worry about him. Then one day when Harry disappears in the middle of the night, is he just following in the footsteps of his aunt, or is there foul play afoot?  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 8, Journey Home  
  
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Shadow galloped slowly along the country banks, it had been several weeks since Michelle's departure from the American soil, now only English terrain branched out before her. If she remembered correctly, tomorrow would be the day that the students returned to Hogwarts.  
  
She stood outside the cabin, unsure of why she was nervous, but she was. Remus Lupin was expecting her, it was not as if she were knocking on his doorstep catching him completely off guard.  
  
Her heart thumped loudly, and slowly she drew her breath and knocked on the door with her clammy hands. Human confrontation was a rare occurrence with Michelle, but it had never been nerve racking for her, she had never been shy.  
  
"Remus," she said smiling.  
  
He looked older, but not by age. Remus had always appeared to be slightly more strained than the rest of the gang, but Michelle figured that bigotry had finally caught up to him in his adult years.  
  
"Michelle Potter," Remus said, smiling, "Do come in." He held the door open for her wider, and she stepped inside.  
  
"How've you been?" She asked slowly, small talk had not come easy to Michelle, as she had never talked to someone unless she had something to say.  
  
"Not bad myself, I heard from Professor Dumbledore that you are taking up the position of the Defense teacher."  
  
The nervousness that had embedded itself into Michelle seemed to let go of her the moment she stepped into the house. As though she felt some familiar force, standing with her, whispering in her ear that it would be all right.  
  
"Indeed I am, a strict favor, I never imagined myself choosing a career where I would have to spend time with more miniature adults," she said, looking around. Moving portraits and papers scattered across the floor.  
  
"Michelle, before I forget, there's a couple of things here," he paused, and looked at her, as if wanting to read her expression further.  
  
"Oh?" She asked.  
  
"Well, first of all, an odd thing happened a few weeks ago, an owl flew through my window, magnificent creature really, she was very persistent."  
  
"And is that an unusual quality for an owl, Remus? Because dare I say that my own owl is quite persistent."  
  
"Yes, so I found out, Michelle, it was your owl, she's in the other room, her wing looked as though it had been damaged, mended then damaged again, foxes I am assuming."  
  
"Tawny's been here this entire time? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I was beginning to think that she'd just gone off and died on me," Michelle said, standing up, straining to see her.  
  
"I'll get her, Michelle, what was that owl doing with your old engagement ring?"  
  
Remus said, heading towards the other room. Yes, Michelle thought, now that I think about it, I do hear her; I did sense her when I first came in.  
  
"Proof," Michelle hollered to him, "one does not simply just come back from the dead and trust that everyone will remember them and trust they are who they say. The engagement ring is one of a kind, and I knew that Dumbledore would recognize it as my own."  
  
Remus walked back in with a happy Tawny flying to and fro, she clumsily found her way to Michelle's shoulder, and perched herself there restlessly. As she did this, Remus dropped the small ring into Michelle's outstretched hand; she the heavy metal cut felt warm and inviting. Michelle patted the space between her eyes slowly, and Tawny felt all this pain wash over her with the strength of a dozen lions.  
  
Master is anxious, uncertain of her decision. She does not realize it, but she is afraid that if she meets Harry, she will not be able to let him go. She has promised herself not to give the boy her true identity for this exact reason, but it still makes her sad, for she knows that Harry is not James. How complicated these humans are, they think of their future, both near and distant, and they regret their past at the same time. And as the tides change, so does my master, and she doesn't even realize it.  
  
If I could speak human, I would tell you everything I know about you that you have yet to realize about yourself.  
  
It was amazing the things Tawny sensed about the people around her simply through the touch of their flesh. All their emotions would unravel at her feet, it had always been like that for Tawny, but having asked other owls and small mammals about this, they all told her the same thing: "it is rare for owls or rodents to sense the human complexity." Though, Tawny didn't feel as though it was rare at all, on the contrary, she felt that her loyalty to Michelle had sparked this, and it had grown as her love for her master grew.  
  
"Now Michelle," Remus said, ushering her to take a seat, "you know that I taught that class three years ago?"  
  
"I do now," she said, continuously scratching Tawny.  
  
"Well, for the most part I think that they're up to speed, but Michelle, do me a favor, try and keep Harry challenged, he's got a real talent for the class, you know," he said, tapping his fingers against his knees in a way that gave Michelle the impression that he must be tone-deaf.  
  
"Yes, it would make sense, considering his past and everything, I suppose, I'll try and keep them all challenged, Remus, and Harry will probably have a tougher time than the others, because we have all learnt to expect it, haven't we?"  
  
"I suppose we have, but just get him prepared," Remus said, the tapping had stopped now, replaced with an urgent pleading in his voice.  
  
"Remus, my old friend, I promise you, on my brother's grave, I will make sure his son can kill a dozen Death Eaters with one hand behind his back by the time he reaches seventeen."  
  
"And that's all I ask," he said beaming.  
  
"You're tired Remus," Michelle commented, "age, it appears has finally caught up to the last Marauder."  
  
"Michelle," he said slowly, disregarding the previous comment, "how exactly do you plan to explain to Harry your whereabouts for the last fifteen years of his life?"  
  
"I don't suppose that telling you that I was hoping you'd break it to him is a very effective answer, Remus?"  
  
"Not in the slightest, he'll be mad, Michelle, he doesn't know you like we do, he won't understand what happened."  
  
"I know, he's a Potter for heaven's sake, of course he won't understand, but I must have faith in the greater good, Remus, dear, they have not led me astray thus far," daring a side glance out of the corner of her eye, Michelle saw Shadow bucking a rearing through the window. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really must go, you see Shadow? He senses something that is making him anxious. Thank you for the tea, Mr. Remus Lupin, we shall touch base, and perhaps some drinks in Hogsmaede will be suiting, eh?"  
  
"Goodbye Michelle, send me an owl once you have settled into your office, and we will most certainly arrange some form of meeting."  
  
Michelle got up to go, and Remus knew better than to see her to the door. She was not a person who you said good bye to while standing awkwardly, instead, Remus knew that she was a writer, and her time was better spent doing things for herself.  
When he heard the familiar click of his door, and heard the clucking of a horse's hooves riding off into a distance, Remus walked briskly across the den where they had been sitting, and up to the kitchen table. Then was ink and a quill already there, the parchment appeared magically beside it as he sat down.  
  
Michelle was back, and Remus knew that this was going to mean trouble in one form or another. Molly Weasley was the first person that he could think of who really was like Harry's mother. She had probably heard of James's little sister, killing herself not even six hours after James's died, she had to know, and she had to be on guard for something that he knew Michelle was capable of.  
  
I'm not tired, Michelle, he thought, just prepared, as always, just cautious.  
  
********************  
  
A/N: Wow, Remus is getting crafty, who woulda thunk it? And yes, I am supposed to be in advanced English with that grammar. Anyways, I'm rather enjoying this choppy chapter action I have going on here, I want to try and smooth it out, but really.... 


	9. A Connection of Truth

A/N: I'm really running low of chapter titles, because in my humble opinion, it should not explain the chapter itself, instead confuse the reader. For the most part that's what they are based upon. Anyways, I moved this one right along, look at it this way, I don't write everything that happens, only the important parts. Well, I've been looking forward to this one because I finally get to combine my two main characters, yay.  
  
Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts with his friends. But things have changed for him since his God Father's death last year, and he is beginning to feel the repercussions. Slowly Harry fights internal conflicts, and Ron and Hermione begin to worry about him. Then one day when Harry disappears in the middle of the night, is he just following in the footsteps of his aunt, or is there foul play afoot?  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 9, A Connection of Truth  
  
********************  
  
"Harry, Harry!" Hermione called after him, as he paced the platform, "me and Ron were looking for you yesterday, you know, at Diagon Alley, but we couldn't find you."  
  
"I didn't go to Diagon Alley," Harry said slowly, "I didn't want to."  
  
Hermione looked at him, looking like a puppy that had just been kicked.  
  
"But your school-"  
  
"Please!" Harry snapped, "I don't want to talk about school, if you don't mind."  
  
She looked ready to cry, and Harry didn't take the time to feel guilt nor suffering. For if he had, he might have realized that he was not the only one who had loved Sirius.  
  
"Fine," she whispered, and he suspected that she spoke so quietly because she was biting her lip to prevent wailing of tears, and for this, Harry was grateful.  
  
"Harry, Hermione!" Ron had just entered the platform, along with his younger sister, Ginny, and his mother. He waved his hands frantically, and Hermione smiled at him, waving him over.  
  
"Harry," she whispered, "I know you've had a rough summer, we've all had, but please, talk to us, please."  
  
Harry nodded. He understood what she was saying, and a part of him resented her deeply for it, but the other part loved her endlessly for her undying loyalty.  
  
"Oi, Harry, where are your books, mate?" Ron asked breathlessly.  
  
"I didn't buy any," he murmured, "I just didn't want to go to Diagon Alley."  
  
"Don't worry 'bout it, Dumbledore will understand," Ron replied cheerfully, pulling out a small wrapped sandwich. "Mom made some for all of us, you're coming to stay with us over Christmas, aren't you Harry?"  
  
For the first time all summer, Harry smiled. All the feelings of abandonment and self-loathing were gone in the simplicity of his best friend's questions.  
  
"Of course," he said, clapping a hand of Ron's shoulder, "unless I die on the Quidditch field first, not having practiced or played for so long. Think that ban will be lifted?"  
  
Due to recent events of the past semester, Harry, Fred and George Weasley had been banned from Quidditch for life, however, it was his high hopes that this year Dumbledore would conveniently overlook the ban, and allow the school to return to normal. He missed Hogwarts, and last year it just hadn't been the same, it almost felt like he was going back home for the first time since Cedric Diggory's brutal murder two years passed.  
  
The train whistle blew, and Harry, Ron and Hermione jumped on an empty car. Closely followed by Ginny, who had incidentally been the replacement seeker for Harry last year, after his ban. She was good, but wasn't quite up to the standards that the Gryffindor house had built up with the four and a half years of watching Harry win them game after game.  
  
"New Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, then?" Harry asked suddenly, "it isn't another Ministry appointed one, is it?"  
  
"I don't know if they appointed anyone, Harry," Hermione said slowly, "it showed no name in the letter, didn't you read yours?"  
  
Harry merely shook his head, not wanting to dignify the inane question with an answer. If he hadn't felt up to visiting Diagon Alley, for the unspoken reasons that they all were aware of, what was the likeliness that he had felt like reading any letter from Hogwarts; even one as important as the listings of teachers and when the new year would begin.  
  
"Look!" Squealed Parvarti Patil, a sixth year along with Harry, "look at her ride!"  
  
At first Harry was confused, but then saw a group of girls of all years crowded along the left side of the windows, Ginny among them.  
  
When Ginny sat back down across from Hermione, Ron decided then to pay attention as to what was going on, "Ginny, what are the lot of them looking at?"  
  
She shrugged off the question and casually took a bite of her sandwich, "nothing really, just some woman riding her horse. I reckon she's racing the train, though that would be something, wouldn't it? A muggle appearing at the gates of Hogwarts with a horse."  
  
Ron nodded, deciding that it wasn't worth further investigation.  
  
********************  
  
"Come on Shadow," Michelle whispered, "I just want to see his face. Bloody hell, what are they doing, crowding my window?" Michelle said desperately. It was the type of despair she hated with a growing passion, she wanted to see Harry, and knew that her mustang would not be able to follow the train for very long until he grew tired and weary.  
  
"Come on," she seethed, "bunch of pre-adolescent girls, haven't they ever seen a horse before?"  
  
But they continued to crowd her window, standing idly by, not realizing what they were doing was unnecessary and upsetting.  
  
"Think gun shots would scare them away?" Michelle asked, mainly to herself.  
  
Shadow made a slight grunting noise, "no," she said, continuing on, "you're right, only the muggle born ones would realize what it meant. And they're the ones who've seen enough horse racing and jumping not to have to crowd the window. But Shadow, suppose the train crashes, and everyone dies, then I will live the rest of my years knowing that I never set face on my brother's son."  
  
An unlikely scenario, for sure, for Michelle had not once heard of the Hogwarts Express crashing, it was not computerized, rather it was magic that kept it running and on the tracks. But some form of human life had conjured the magic and spells, and therefore had faults.  
  
********************  
  
"I don't know what all the fuss is," Ron breathed, "unicorns are much nicer."  
  
"It's not the horse," Ginny said slowly, "I think it's something about the rider that has most of them watching her. It's almost as if she's watching us..."  
  
"Hermione..." Ron said slowly, "they wouldn't expect spies to come on horseback...do you think-"  
  
"Oh, Ron, really," she said hastily, "Voldemorte is NOT going to send something following the Hogwarts Express on a horse."  
  
"Maybe we should just...check it, just in case?" It was Harry who spoke this time, "I mean, maybe get a look at her, explain her to Dumbledore if need be."  
  
Ron and Harry went over the crowded window, being taller than most of the girls, standing behind them wasn't a problem. Almost immediately something forced Harry's eye to the horse and the mystery rider, he felt her gaze upon him, and met her eyes. They were dark and soft, and somehow pained with worry. Quickly, the connection was lost as she loosened the reign of the horse and slowed him down to a walk.  
  
Hermione walked up behind them, "you see," she said, "she wasn't a spy, she was just running her horse. Stupid really, the protection around Hogwarts must have kicked in I guess, made her think of something she forgot. I bet she's already turned around and heading home." 


	10. Ying Yang Black

A/N: I'm attempting to do something different, and tonight I had a revelation. Wow, Lucius plays such a big role now, its almost painful. Anyways, just read the next chapter to see my new "thing" I'm gonna see how it goes, because quite honestly, it seems like a good idea to me.  
  
Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts with his friends. But things have changed for him since his God Father's death last year, and he is beginning to feel the repercussions. Slowly Harry fights internal conflicts, and Ron and Hermione begin to worry about him. Then one day when Harry disappears in the middle of the night, is he just following in the footsteps of his aunt, or is there foul play afoot?  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 9, Ying-Yang Black  
  
********************  
  
Michelle walked into her office, her new home. She had never attended the feasts while at school, not if she could help it anyway, and she saw no reason why this would be any different.  
  
"Michelle Potter," a voice said behind her, making her spin around, "what a pleasant surprise, I thought you were dead."  
  
"Malfoy," she whispered, "Lucius Malfoy, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Seeing my boy to his sixth year, actually, and I heard that Dumbledore had appointed this position to an old friend, I thought I'd stop to say hello."  
  
"Well, you've said that, now if you please, I have made a habit of not interfering with the forces of evil, so you can see yourself to the door."  
  
"And I thought you would have forgotten me," he whispered lazily, moving closer to her, splitting his eyes with hers.  
  
"You spent half your years here looking both ways to make sure that James wasn't around, and when he left you spent the rest of them following me, trying to see if you could...bloody, I don't know what you were doing, just get out of here, would you?"  
  
Yes, Michelle remembered him well. He had been a few years under her, and had hated James with an unholy passion; he was the Gryffindor seeker, after all. And once James had left Malfoy had picked up on James's only weakness, and that was his fear of leaving Michelle at Hogwarts completely unguarded.  
  
"Michelle Potter, you be careful, you are dead to the Ministry, and only Dumbledore would really notice if...someone accidentally said an unfriendly incantation which would result in your unfortunate death."  
  
"What do you want Lucius?" She asked coldly. It wasn't that she was threatened by him, it was more the fact that she wanted him gone, and had dealt with him enough to know how that was done.  
  
Completely disregarding her, he continued on the same track as he had been on, "I saw him die. I watched you fiancé fall beneath those curtains, my sweet, sweet Michelle. We made him cry for mercy."  
  
"Liar!" She screamed before she realized what she was doing. "Just leave. Malfoy, the beautiful thing about being dead is that I can't be arrested for murder. And don't think I won't.  
  
There was a small rapping at the door, and Michelle fired another glance at Lucius. "Don't answer that," she whispered, "take a few steps away from the door."  
  
"No need to be paranoid, Miss Potter," he hissed, "if the Dark Lord wanted you dead he would do it himself."  
  
"I'm not being paranoid, you jack ass, it's probably a student, and I'll be God damned if I expose them to a Death Eater willingly."  
  
"Professor?" A meek voice called from behind the other side of the door.  
  
"It's unlocked," Michelle called, moving in front of Lucius.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore wants to know if you'll be coming to the feast," the brunette said quickly, taking intimidated glances over in Lucius's direction.  
  
"Granger," he spat under his breath, "filthy Harry Potter loving Mudblood."  
  
Michelle spun around, "OK, Lucius, you can curse, you can use any racist remark you want, hell, you can use the Lord's name in vein for all I bloody care, but you are in my classroom, and you will NOT use such language, now, leave," she pointed to the door.  
  
"Professor," Hermione said slowly, when Lucius was gone, "what was he doing here?"  
  
"Beats me, sweetheart, said he was dropping his son off, but I doubt it. I've met old Lucius Malfoy, and he doesn't do anything unless it's worthwhile. And I suppose someone needs to tell Dumbledore to tighten things up around here, honestly, I'm going to walk in one day and blow someone's head to smithereens if that happens again. What's your name, kiddo, anyways?"  
  
"Hermione Granger," she said quickly, "sixth year."  
  
"Well, Hermione, I take it you're in Gryffindor, because really, anyone in Ravenclaw would've had the brains to run, and I don't think Dumbledore would have sent Hufflepuff, no, too trusting."  
  
"Yea," she said slowly, "I am Gryffindor."  
  
"Good house...honorable house."  
  
"You didn't go to Hogwarts, did you professor, I mean you can't have, your accent is so..."  
  
"Americanized," Michelle finished for her, "happens after fifteen years of living in North America, been there since right after Voldemorte went down. But no, I grew up in England, for the most part, didn't go to Hogwarts for personal reasons, but I haven't been back since now, one of my few regrets," she said grinning. But on the inside, Michelle wanted to die just a little bit.  
  
Michelle had come to terms with the fact long ago that lying was the best method of protection; magic was a close second. As long no one was under the impression that her past at Hogwarts was at all abnormal, she could avoid harder questions. The thing was that, it was a snowball affect, and once people knew she went to Hogwarts, only hard questions could follow. As soon as anyone knew of her heritage, or her brother, or of her engagement, and it would all start with someone knowing about her going to Hogwarts.  
  
They got into the Great Hall, and memories flooded back to her. She remembered the first year; being scared half to death by the sorting. The hat had thrown her in Ravenclaw, much to her protest. Her second year she dined with her brother and his friends, and the third year she skipped the new-year feast altogether, reading a little bit in her common room. Her fourth and fifth year she ate again with James, and in her sixth year Michelle hadn't even taken the train, in fact she'd missed the first four days of the new semester because she had left the platform after her mom had left, and had taken Shadow. Of course, Sirius knew what she was doing, and had followed her the entire way to Hogwarts on his motorcycle. As far as she knew, he hadn't told James about their adventure though.  
  
Her seventh year, Voldemorte had begun to rise, and both Sirius and James feared for her security at Hogwarts. It was little assurance that it was probably safer to be there than to be at home. Sirius got all the scheduled Hogsmaede trips and met up with her there, and James would send letters to her, Dumbledore and Hagrid, just to make sure.  
  
"I'll be," she whispered, "I haven't been inside this hall in so many years." She turned her attention to the staff.  
  
There was an empty seat beside Professor Snape and the headmaster, and Michelle made her way towards there.  
  
"I never thought I'd see another Potter again," Snape said as she sat down next to him.  
  
"And you're lucky you are, Mr. Snape, because, even the best of us need a little reminder that human decency can go a long way."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" He sniped, curling the tip of his tongue, and taking a seductively large bite of an apple.  
  
"Your old buddy appeared in my class, today, Severus, you remember Lucius Malfoy? Of course you do, I mean you loyally served-"  
  
"Enough," he breathed, "you forget my past, and I'll forget yours, Potter."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
Michelle took the apple Severus had been eating and put it on his plate, meeting his murderous eye, she offered a hand, "Shake on it?" 


	11. Ying Yang White

A/N: Yes, a different story outline. They're slowly getting better. Well, please give me some feedback, I'd very much appreciate it.  
  
As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 9, Ying-Yang White  
  
********************  
  
Hermione followed the professor, leading her into the Great Hall. She had been shocked at first to learn that the new Defense teacher had attended Hogwarts, she just didn't act the part of an old Hogwarts student; instead Hermione was under the impression that she had hated every moment of it.  
  
She felt cold after seeing Lucius, not quite understanding why. She figured it was because she had seen him only months ago in the Department of Mysteries, trying to kill her and her friends. It was unsettling, to say the least. But still, she felt weak and impressionable after making direct eye-to-eye contact with him, had the new Defense teacher not been there, Hermione was afraid he would have lunged and done something to her. It had taken all her strength and courage not to disarm him.  
  
She took long strides, and Hermione felt the urge to run to keep up with her gate, but instead she got into a quick walking motion, which left her feeling breathless by the time they reached the hall.  
  
Hermione, quickly walked to the other Gryffindors, and watched out of the corner of her eye as the new teacher sat next to Snape.  
  
"What happened?" Harry asked, "You look scared to death."  
  
Looking around, checking to see who might be watching, Hermione lowered her voice so that only Ron and Harry could hear her, "Lucius Malfoy was in her class, and she looked down right upset at seeing him. I think that they knew each other, or something. But Malfoy was looking for something, Harry, I think he was looking around for you."  
  
This news didn't surprise him in the least, on the contrary in fact. Harry Potter was used to having strange people wanting him dead, and he was used to being followed, waited on, goggled at and stalked. He was shocked, actually, to see that Lucius hadn't burst through the Hall, and killed everyone in sight. Then again, that was a little bit mellow dramatic, as Dumbledore, the only wizard Voldemorte had ever feared, was right here as the Headmaster of Hogwarts.  
  
"Oi," Ron whispered, "what's he doing?"  
  
Harry looked over and saw what he could only describe as a love-hate relationship. Hate on Snape's part. There the defense teacher was, shaking hands with a very angry looking Snape. It was almost as if there was some type of sexual maneuver, that Snape did not want to be a part of.  
  
"Don't know, Ron, no idea, but she must be crazy. Who would ever willingly touch Snape?" Harry answered back. Perhaps a bit too loudly because he saw the Potion Master's eyes twitch ever so slightly in his general direction.  
  
Professor Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat. "Welcome to all of the first years, may you have a wonderful time in your new houses."  
  
There was a rather forced and stifled round of applause.  
  
"And now," he said, "as we have already gone through the rules of the school, let me introduce to you our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."  
  
Michelle stood up and looked around, "thank you," she said smiling, "and I must say, and I must say, Dumbledore must have been having an awful time trying to fill this position, because he had to bring me in all the way out west." Her dark eyes twinkled, and her black lacey hair fell down her back. She wasn't wearing traditional robes, instead what Harry recognized as a pair of work jeans and a halter top capped off with an empty gun holster.  
  
Snape was glaring at Michelle as she sat back down, "thank you Michelle," he said loudly, so the entire hall could hear him, "although I must inform you that the rest of us have made it a habit of referring to Professor Dumbledore with more formality than that."  
  
"That's quite alright, Severus, as Michelle kindly reminded me earlier this year; formalities are not entirely necessary."  
  
Hermione looked at both Harry then Ron, "isn't that odd?" She asked, "that they never gave us a family name to call her by. We've never had a teacher who we called by their surname, and does she just expect us to call her 'professor' all year, honestly, it will be confusing, to say the least."  
  
Ron merely shrugged, "maybe they run it a bit differently in America. I mean, look at what she's wearing..."  
  
"Ron," Harry said slowly, "she's wearing that because I don't reckon horses like having loads of robes swishing around them."  
  
"What do you mean by that, mate?"  
  
Hermione gasped, "Ron, she's the rider who was following us with her horse. And of course she wouldn't have had time to change, wonder where the horse is."  
  
"What do you think she wouldn't just apparate, or fly?" Ron wondered out loud, "think Hagrid wanted to see the horse?"  
  
Hermione looked around for a little while then whispered softly, "there's something funny 'bout her, I don't know what, but I think she's scared."  
  
"I would be too if Snape were looking at me like that," Harry said slowly, grabbing at his goblet and drinking his pumpkin juice.  
  
"Why IS Snape looking at her like that?" Ron muttered.  
  
"When has Snape EVER liked a defense teacher?" Harry asked, grabbing this time for a piece of apple pie.  
  
"Well..." Hermione said slowly, "He didn't like the first one because he knew he was in league with Vol-Voldemorte," she stuttered a little, living in the Magic world, you never really got used to saying his name.  
  
"And the second one...I guess because it WAS Lockheart, right? I mean, who could ever even look at that one without grimacing, honestly?" Ron said bitterly, glaring at Hermione who had fancied the second defense teacher in their second year.  
  
"You don't suppose that Michelle is with Voldemorte? Could explain why Malfoy was in her room," Harry said, looking back at her.  
  
Hermione cocked her head slightly, "I think that Dumbledore would have reason to hire her, plus as I said, she was really upset when he was there. And now, more than ever, Dumbledore's going to be careful about who he hires, right? Only close friends I suspect."  
  
"He hated Lupin more than any of our other professors, didn't he?" Harry said excitedly, "You don't suppose she was friends with my dad, do you?"  
  
"I doubt it Harry..." Hermione said slowly, "she came from America, and she even said she didn't go to Hogwarts."  
  
"She could have been in the Order the last time though," he said anxiously. Hermione felt that he was trying, on some level, to replace Sirius.  
  
"Too young," Ron said, chewing on some cheesecake noisily. Hermione looked over at him, this was the first time she had known Ron to say something so logical.  
  
"Yes," Hermione said, "she is."  
  
He blushed beat red, the infamous trademark all the Weasley children bore. "My mom told me...said that anyone in the Order last time would have to be at least thirty five or so. She doesn't look a day past twenty seven, does she Hermione?"  
  
"No..." Hermione said slowly, "I don't suppose she does." 


	12. Old Habits Never Die

A/N: I've always wondered how James's parents died, because really, their life needed to end before Harry was one, making them roughly in their sixties. That's a bit young to be dying of natural causes.  
  
As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 12, Old Habits Never Die  
  
********************  
  
"Come on, mate, just leave her alone," Sirius said, pushing James away.  
  
"She's my little sister-"  
  
"And perfectly capable of making her own decisions," Sirius yelled back at him, before he even knew what he was doing.  
  
"What's going on, Padfoot," James said slowly, "you're acting different."  
  
"Good God," Sirius gasped, "they never told you, did they?"  
  
It was eight days after Michelle alleged suicide attempt. Sirius had picked up on her bandaged wrists immediately after walking into the common room one night and staring aimlessly into the fire pit.  
  
"You should be in bed," he had said.  
  
"Why bother?" Both cheeks had been streaked with tears, and Sirius knew at that moment that she wasn't going to make it to her sixteenth birthday if things didn't change, and soon.  
  
"Tell me what?" James demanded, snapping Sirius back to the present, "What do you know that I don't?"  
  
Michelle walked up behind them, she couldn't face James right now, she knew that what he would ask of her, and she just couldn't. As she turned to walk away, James caught her out of the corner of her eye.  
  
"Michelle," he called, beckoning him over, "what's going on?"  
  
"I was just talking to Professor McGonagall," She whispered before bursting into tears, "Voldemorte...there's been another attack."  
  
"Who?" James asked, mildly concerned.  
  
"Mum and dad," she was wailing by now, "Oh James, one of his supporters...in our home...both dead."  
  
"What?" James breathed heavily. Voldemorte was slowly beginning to rise to power, but he had never suspected his parents to be in any mortal danger of him. Right now it was powerful ministry families who were being targeted. His father had been a retired farmer, what could Voldemorte ever have wanted with them? "When did it happen?" He asked, the blood slowly draining from his face.  
  
"Not long ago, today I think, they attacked Shadow too...he's lame, but made it here alive. I think he was trying to bring mum with him..."  
  
"But she wouldn't leave, would she...oh God Michelle, what's happening to us?" James eyes were watering; the only thing keeping him from weeping was the will to be strong for his sister.  
  
"James," Sirius whispered, "I'm sorry..." News of this had come to a shock to Sirius as well, no one understood what was happening to their world, but the pattern for the brutal murders were clear enough: power, money, and authority. As far as Sirius was concerned, the James's parents had not enough of any of those to be a threat to Voldemorte.  
  
"Don't be, Sirius," James said.  
  
********************  
  
Michelle woke up in her office.  
  
"Well..." she said slowly to herself, "that's different."  
  
It had been many years since she had had a dream like this. Remembering the day her parents died. James had taken the news harder than anyone, but she recognized his strength to go on. If it wasn't hate fueling him by what Voldemorte had done, then it was his will.  
  
"Holy Marry mother of God," Michelle breathed just remembering her parents was enough to break her to the state of tears. "This ends now."  
  
She walked out the corridor and down a few flights of stairs. Wandering aimlessly had been a hobby for her in Hogwarts, and within her first few years, the castle seemed so much less intimidating as it once had.  
  
"Michelle," Dumbledore said smiling, "Late night walk?"  
  
"Indeed, professor," she said gently, "I was actually looking for the hospital wing, or a liquor store."  
  
"Something troubling you m'dear?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling as his white beard tried to reach the ground.  
  
"Just my subconscious, but easy enough to settle, a few shots, a dreamless sleep is all I need," she said yawning.  
  
"All you need, Michelle," Dumbledore said slowly, choosing his words wisely, "Is some rest, and perhaps some more closure then you have allowed yourself to have. We both knew it wouldn't be easy to be back in Hogwarts, but right now you need to be here, if not for your sake than for the Order's."  
  
Michelle nodded, she knew that he was right, "there will always be a Potter in the Order, headmaster, as long as the two of both live, and just think, when I die then you will have James's son, what a pretty price will be on Harry's head then?" She said thinking to herself, "Think James would kill me if he were alive; I really do..."  
  
She turned around and headed towards the hospital wing. "Michelle Potter." Dumbledore whispered slowly to himself, "A legend in her own time, she's planning something, I know that look."  
  
Indeed he did, he recognized her defiance in Harry the moment he'd laid eyes upon him. And he still continued to see her rebellion. Dumbledore knew that she did not expect to live through the year, yet the only difference was that she didn't expect to be killing herself this time.  
  
Michelle never did reach the hospital wing; instead she walked outside to see Shadow. It was nearing one o'clock, she knew that he would be sleeping, but had never objected in the past to a bit of midnight riding.  
  
He usually grazed near Hagrid's hut, and she could see his silhouette figure in the distance. Going into a small job, Michelle made her way towards him. As she got closer, she strained to see another figure, a younger, less aged figured, certainly not Hagrid.  
  
"Oi!" She called, returning to a fast walk. Harry turned his head to meet hers.  
  
"If my memory serves me," she said slowly, "the names Harry, correct me if I'm wrong."  
  
"That's right, professor," Harry said, not breaking eye contact with the horse.  
  
"You're good with him," she commented, "he doesn't usually like strangers, bet he'd let you ride him if you wanted to."  
  
"Huh?" Harry asked, he had expected a detention, he had expected points to be taken away from his house, but he had not expected that.  
  
"Of course, he's a bit fresh, probably want to throw a saddle on him first though. And he never responds well underneath a saddle, no matter how light. What are you doing out here, Harry?"  
  
"Couldn't sleep," he murmured, "and I saw this horse out here and wanted to see him."  
  
"You and me both, son," she said slowly. "Come on, I can't just stand here with a good conscience and watch you break fifty rules in the book. But me and my conscience have never seen eye to eye in the past, so what do you say to coming back to the castle and getting some type of potion to treat what's ailing you."  
  
"Like what..." Harry said slowly, cautiously.  
  
"Was just heading up to get some of that Dreamless Sleep potion for myself, but ran into Dumbledore. He doesn't like playing God with the body, you know, doesn't like me taking too much of that potion, I think it bothers him. But, I was just on my way to breaking into that wing and grabbing some, want to come along?"  
  
"Sure..." Harry said slightly confused, "but won't he be mad?"  
  
Michelle shrugged, "my boy, Dumbledore knows better than anyone what goes on through this castle, and he lets most of it happen. He knew what he was getting into when he signed me on, I'm not here to give out detentions and discipline, you know," she cracked a smile.  
  
"Come on, Harry, you start classes tomorrow, the best thing to do is to get some sleep." She clucked her tongue loudly, "Shadow, get, I'll take you out in the morning."  
  
Walking towards the castle, Michelle kept an eye on Harry with her perpetual vision. There you go, James, she thought to herself, I'm taking care of your boy like you would have wanted me to, now when will these nightmares end?  
  
"Michelle?" Harry said, breaking her thoughts, "did you...did you know my dad?"  
  
"We've met," she said smiling, "good man."  
  
"Is that why Snape hates you?" Harry asked. Since Sirius's death, he found himself no longer caring about what people might react to him, he didn't care for the school rules, and he barely cared for his life anymore.  
  
"Oh, you probably know Severus better than I do, Harry, but yes, to an extent, that could be the cause of such feelings towards me. But there's nothing he detests more than someone who will not return the feeling, and throughout my entire life, I never once cared enough about him to hate him."  
  
"You knew...." Suddenly Harry felt it difficult to breathe, "Sirius. You knew him?"  
  
Michelle's eyes narrowed. Guilt, it appeared was finally catching up to her, "I knew him, knew him well enough to know that he was never a murderer, and if you ask me Harry, if Dumbledore had told me to fetch you from that destroyed house when you were a baby, I would have handed you over to Sirius in a heart beat, and I would not have looked back on it at all."  
  
"Is that why he asked Hagrid then?" Harry asked, these questions felt painful, but he knew that the curiosity would later chew his inners up and spit them back out. Some part of him told him that he needed to know.  
  
"No, by the time he had learnt about it, and had sent Hagrid, I was already out of the country. Old habits never die, Harry, remember that." 


	13. Dream Interrupted

A/N: This is a rather short chapter, although I try to keep my chapters between 1,000 and 1,500 words each, this definitely is closer to the bare minimum. Well, this is really a genetic connection happening between the two of them, and since I'm not always clear in my writing, Harry and Michelle are never once in the same room in this chapter, just keep that in mind nearing the end.  
  
As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 13, Dream Interrupted  
  
********************  
  
"And she just let you?" Hermione said looking appalled.  
  
"Yea, pretty much," Harry replied shrugging.  
  
Harry had just finished telling Ron and Hermione about his adventures of the previous night. It wasn't a big story, but it was something to say.  
  
"Harry, you could've been expelled if anyone else had caught you," Hermione said defiantly. A tone of nagging that she reserved solely when Ron and Harry were planning something that she did not approve of. A tone of a mother.  
  
Harry remembered last night vividly. Surreal nightmares plagued his sleep, but it hadn't felt like an ordinary dream. Instead he had gotten a chiseled feeling that the dreams were the memories of someone else. Sirius, he felt, was trying to tell him something. He had dismissed this idea easily at the time, but now he was beginning to feel that it was not so easy as it appeared to be.  
  
"There's something you need to know...." The voice from his dream continued to echo. It hadn't sounded human, but it was Sirius, that much he was sure.  
  
"What?" The dream version of Harry had screamed back, "WHAT!"  
  
Harry had awoken with cold sweat hanging on for dear life on his skin.  
  
Harry's head turned back to Hermione, reliving his nightmares wasn't on top of his grocery list right now. "She didn't do anything wrong Hermione, like she said, Dumbledore knows what happens in his castle, he's got his reasons for hiring her."  
  
"He had his reasons for hiring Mad Eye too!" Hermione shrieked.  
  
"Hermione," Ron said, breaking his way into the conversation, "it's OK, Harry's fine, the defense teacher didn't try to eat him in his sleep."  
  
Tears started falling out of Hermione's eyes, "I'm sorry," she whispered, "it's just that..."  
  
She didn't need to finish her sentence, "it's just, that I worry." It was on the tip of her tongue and both of them knew it. They felt it day in and night out. Hermione worried, Hermione wasn't herself; Hermione had lost something that they couldn't quite understand.  
  
********************  
  
"I know what you're thinking, professor," Michelle said dryly in his office, Dumbledore with his back towards her.  
  
"Michelle," he said slowly, turning around, "how can I just make you understand that Harry is James's son, not your own. He isn't like you-"  
  
"He's enough like me to go after Shadow, isn't that enough proof for you professor?" Michelle was on her feet now.  
  
"Stay calm, please, just stay calm," Dumbledore put his hands on her shoulder, "Michelle, remember that you and James were not alike, and Harry is a combination of the two of you. But first and foremost, he IS James's son, you expect things from him that are too great to imagine."  
  
"How can I stay fucking calm, Professor," she said coldly, "when he's almost been killed, and under your watchful eye at that? Professor, we both want the same thing-"  
  
"But we're going about it two different ways. Yes, Michelle, I know what you're thinking. You can't save him anymore then I can, anymore than Sirius could."  
  
"But I can make him see who he is, professor, I can show him who his father was, who Sirius was, and who they would have wanted him to be," something dawned on her at that moment, "you know this. You've seen this, and all this time-"  
  
"Yes," he said slowly, "and all this time we kept it from him. Michelle-"  
  
"You don't get it," she said slowly, tears glittering off of her cheeks, "we can't tell him, Dumbledore, please I'm begging you, he's already lost his parents and a dad, please don't make him loose an aunt as well."  
  
"Michelle," he said, looking at her dark eyes, "you will survive, you'll live, you'll see past these dark years, and one day you'll look back and I can only hope that you'll realize that I was right."  
  
********************  
  
Harry woke up, and he could feel his lungs clot with fluids. It felt like an indescribable drowning sensation. What had happened? He remembered as much as he could, as much as his mind would allow him to. He had been led away from the horse, by the professor, the new professor. She was teacher Lupin's old position.  
  
Lupin...a voice said slowly in his mind, you know Remus Lupin. Of course I know him, Harry said, trying to quiet it, he was my dad's friend.  
  
He was James's friend too...the voice said slowly, carefully.  
  
That's what I meant, Harry thought back.  
  
Harry turned around; he was intent for something to preoccupy his mind from the thing inside of his head. It was still dark out, his head felt fine, but his conscience didn't. In his dream he had seen something he was sure he wasn't supposed to have seen. Michelle was in it, and so was professor Dumbledore, they were arguing over something...over him? That seemed about right. Michelle was angry, and Dumbledore remained calm, but Dumbledore always remained calm. Though something inside told Harry that Dumbledore was unhappy with her.  
  
Perhaps because she gave me the sleeping potion? Yes, that sounded right, although Michelle had said herself that Dumbledore knew better than anyone what happened around his castle.  
  
"Stop it," Harry whispered, "it was just a dream of how you imagine people might react. Remember the part with Hermione and Ron, that was part of the dream too."  
  
But was it? That felt more natural, as if it was okay for him to by spying on his own conversations that have not yet happened, although it was wrong to be spying on the future conversations of different individuals. It is still, after all, breaking the basic rule of individualism and honorable living.  
  
Slowly the thought came back into Harry's mind. Breaking the basic rule of individualism and honorable living? What did that mean, if anything that had not been his own thoughts. His body tingle, knowing that someone else was using his brain to think, someone else was doing what Voldemorte had done last year.  
  
Harry woke up the next morning, looked outside and saw the sun's glowing light breach the surface of the horizon, with it a flame of pink and orange trailed behind it.  
  
********************  
  
"God," Michelle said slowly watching Shadow gallop on her horizon, "not a million words could describe this moment, except one. And I'll search for a million years for that one word, and find that it was on the tip of my tongue the entire time."  
  
********************  
  
Harry could only nod in agreement. He had not heard the statement with his ears, but he agreed with it full heartedly. He rolled over on his back and fell back asleep. 


	14. A Question Worth Remembering

A/N: I wrote this a long time ago, when the story was still going through my head. I have the general idea of what is going to happen, though it might take another five chapters to actually be able to fully understand what is really happening around Hogwarts.  
  
As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 14, A Question Worth Remembering  
  
********************  
  
"OK, class," Michelle said, entering the Defense room, "you can put everything away, just make yourselves comfortable."  
  
The classroom looked around, Harry threw Ron a shrug, saying that he didn't know what was going on.  
  
Flipping through papers, Michelle didn't turn around from the chalk board; glancing every now and again at the mirrors she had placed in the corners of the room. "I might not have Moody's eye, Mister Weasley, but I was once young too. Put the note down unless you want a date Friday evening." She said it with no emotions, she was neither mad nor pleased, and her lazy tone of voice told them that.  
  
"Well," she said, turning around to face the class, "my name is Michelle, we will be spending the next year together, so formalities are useless. If you insist, I will call you by your surname, but I must press that to all of you, I am Michelle, not Professor, not Miss, not ma'am, Michelle.  
  
"I spoke to a young Remus Lupin the other night, your only reliable Defense teacher thus far-"Michelle stopped as she saw Snape's eyes leering at her at her doorway, his lip curling at the sound of Lupin's name.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore wants to speak with you, Miss Black as soon as you have a moment to spare."  
  
Michelle met his gaze, "Thank you Severus," she pronounced his first name with the same mocking tone as he had used to pronounce her last.  
  
"We spoke about how you were to address me," he sneered.  
  
"And you me," her mind flashing back to her earlier days in the common room. "You leave my ancestry out of this Severus," she said slowly, "and I will do the same."  
  
In a wave of unorthodox robes, Snape left the classroom.  
  
"You first lesson-"she stopped abruptly, looking at Hermione's waving hand, "yes, Hermione?"  
  
"Are you related to Sirius Black?"  
  
Michelle knew the question, and she knew that someone would have asked it the moment that Snape had used the term "Miss Black". It had been an old nickname that Mad Eye himself had bestowed upon her shortly after her engagement to Sirius. Dumbledore had told the staff that no one was to use Michelle's actual name, much to Snape's protest, so they were either to use her first name, or Miss Black, much to Michelle's protest.  
  
"Not in the slightest," She replied lightly. "Continuing on, you will all go very far in this class if you put effort into your work, I do not take kindly to laziness, I especially don't take kindly to passing around detentions. As fun as it is for me, to spend my evenings and weekends babysitting children who just had to break the rules, I would much rather be spending them by myself, with a good book."  
  
"Oi," Ron whispered to Harry, "she's just like Hermione, that one is."  
  
"Ronald Weasley," Michelle said, this time her voice was raising slightly, "could you stay after class, and us two, we will have a little talk."  
  
Ron went bright red; he had not thought that Michelle could've heard him since he; Harry and Hermione were right in the back.  
  
"Well, before the Potion Master decided to make his unruly presence known, I was telling you that I had a talk with Mr. Lupin, he is doing splendid, for anyone who cares, but he gave me a short run down of what had happened, and what our brave Gryffindors are capable of, so skipping right along, I think we will begin today by having a short discussion.  
  
"Now," she continued, "the best way to defend yourself against an unforgivable curse is to avoid it. That means that you need to be able to read your opponent, who may or may not be a Death Eater. You need to be able to predict what they are going to do, and you need to counter it before they have a chance to jinx, hex, or curse you."  
  
Michelle took out her wand and in a few short waves; the desks that had been in the three rows were now to the side, with the pupil still in them.  
  
Then, looking down at her attendance list, she randomly selected two names, "Neville Longbottom," she called, "Hermione Granger, if you please come up here."  
  
Hermione left her seat from beside Ron and Harry, and stood where the middle desks had once been, Neville got up from the second row to join her.  
  
"Hermione," Michelle said, "imagine you are a Death Eater, and right now you need to kill Neville, lest you face the consequences of failure."  
  
Michelle then turned to Neville, "you're job is to escape unharmed. Hermione, what is the first thing you are going to do, remember; you are at an advantage because presently Neville suspects nothing."  
  
"I'd stun him," Hermione said, "then I'd kill him."  
  
"Well Miss Hermione Granger, you would make a reckless and probably powerful Death Eater, remind me not to antagonize you if you are to ever switch over to Dark Side."  
  
Hermione smiled sheepishly, it wasn't on a regular basis that she was commended for being a good Death Eater, and she felt slightly baffled that the Defense teacher would be teaching them such tactics.  
  
"Neville," Michelle said, "you have just been stunned, what are you going to do?"  
  
"Fall?" Neville asked quietly.  
  
"Yes, but Neville, your life now depends how you fall."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Michelle spent the rest of the class explaining Death Eater fighting tactics, and how thinking and planning ahead could save your life on more than one occasion. Basically Michelle spent the class teaching them what she had learnt through hers years at Hogwarts, though she didn't mention that aspect of the lecture.  
  
When the bell rang it was Ron who took Michelle by surprise as he stayed behind. It took her a few moments to realize that at the beginning of class, she had asked him to.  
  
"Sit down, Ron," Michelle said, sitting at her desk.  
  
Ron pulled a chair from one of the spare desks and sat, looking at her nervously.  
  
"You're a good friends of Harry, then?" She asked; she knew his answer before he even told her that he was, primarily because, despite the students' opinion, she had eyes, and knew in general how adolescent children worked.  
  
"Then I have something to discuss with you, no, Mister Weasley, it is not about note passing or talking, because to be frank, I don't give a bloody damn whether you walk out of my class hating me or loving me, and I don't give a bloody damn whether you choose to spend your time learning how to ward off evils or how to try pass notes behind my back thinking that I don't know what goes on in my classroom."  
  
Ron nodded, "then what is this about?"  
  
"Ideally, I have no idea why I am bringing it up with you, but my instincts rarely leave me astray, it's not listening to them that causes disaster, so Mister Ronald Weasley, this is what I have to tell you." 


	15. Cross Roads of Life

As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 15, Crossroads of Life  
  
"Bloody hell," Michelle said slowly as her eyes wandered to Tawny flying through her window, dropping off a small letter at her desk.  
  
It was lunch time, and the rest of the school was, or at least should be, in the Great Hall, and one week into the semester, and Michelle was already back to her old anti-social behaviors. James had hated it, he complained about never seeing her, about how Sirius saw her more often than he did, but at the time he was blinded by his ignorance to Michelle's life.  
  
Michelle, I can't say too much in the letter, but somehow Lucius knows you're around, we can only assume that others may know as well. I got an owl from Hermione three days ago telling me that they have a Hogsmaede trip coming up, since I haven't heard from you since our meeting before the term began, I figured that you somehow missed the announcement. Interested in meeting for tea? There's still a bit to discuss. Remus  
  
As an old precaution, Michelle read the letter out loud to herself, just to make sure it sounded like Remus, it did. She closed her eyes tightly, this had not been a formal letter, therefore did not demand a formal response. He was correct in thinking that she had missed the announcement, and he had good reason to, she was sure.  
  
"Remus," she said aloud, "Three Broomsticks, at noon. I'll supply the drinks, if you supply the info."  
  
It sounded genuine enough. The problem was that if Remus read it and thought that Michelle was trying to buy information with alcohol, or worse yet that she was giving him some type of charity. Both were true enough, but that didn't mean that she wanted him to know this.  
  
For the first time in several years, Michelle had felt some type of writer's block. This is a disgrace, she thought violently, manipulation through writing was what got me through school, and now I can't even write a letter inviting Remus to drinks properly.  
  
"Remus," she said again, this time imagining him the room with her. "Three Broomsticks, don't fancy meeting up in the Hogs Head. Tea sounds fine, but hard tea sounds better, I'll supply the drinks, you supply the information. Noon fine for you?"  
  
Yes, that was better. It was longer, and took time to explain her a bit more, it ended with a question rather than a demand, so any concern he might have about being bought with liquor would evaporate in his mind when he was forced to answer.  
  
She attached the letter to Tawny's leg, and sent her back, she should get a response by tomorrow, it wasn't a long fly from her office to Remus's cabin; she knew this. With nothing to do, and a good forty minutes until her next class, Michelle stood up and walked out. Shadow would be fresh by the lack of riding, and she took a gander and figured that a good gallop would do them both good.  
  
Walking outside, Michelle was hit hard by the scent of life slowly coming to an end. Fall was coming up, and fast, the trees were turning, the grass was no longer as green and sweet as it had been only a few weeks ago, and flowers were no longer swaying vibrantly in the air.  
  
She looked far and wide, but Shadow could not be seen. Shrugging this off easily, Michelle headed for Hagrid's hut instead.  
  
Shadow had never stayed around Hogwarts for long periods, magic scared him, it brought something out of him that Michelle figured not even he understood.  
  
"Hagrid," she called knocking on his door. The dog's bark threw her back in mild fright.  
  
The door swung open, "Hagrid," Michelle said exasperated, "when the hell did you get a dog?"  
  
"Hullo Michelle," Hagrid said, "spot of tea? Jus' put some on."  
  
"Yeah, sure," she said, still looking cautiously at the dog.  
  
"Fang's 'armless," Hagrid said, continuing to grin happily, opening the door wider, allowing for her to step in slowly.  
  
"Hello, professor," Ron said from the table, Hermione sitting across from him.  
  
Michelle shook her head slowly, her right leg muscle twitching slightly; then she focused her attention back to Hagrid. "I can't stay too long, unfortunately," she said, "but I had a bit of time to kill, and my mustang, it appears, has taken off on me."  
  
Hermione suddenly looked up, "no he didn't, Michelle, we came out here about three minutes ago and he was just standing outside the door, I remember because Harry pointed him out."  
  
Michelle shook her head, "Where did he go?"  
  
"I don't know," Ron said shrugging, "probably wanted to do some grazing, or maybe-"  
  
"Not the horse, Ron," Michelle cut him off abruptly, "where did Harry go?"  
  
"Oh, he just said he was tired and went back to the castle," Hermione said lightly.  
  
"Fuck it," Michelle breathed, "bloody hell, just a quick question, Hagrid, what the fuck, from his past actions, brought you to the conclusion that Harry doesn't do stupid things on the spur of the moment?"  
  
"Now Michelle," Hagrid started, "he's made mistakes-"  
  
"He hasn't 'made mistakes' Hagrid, he's taken off with my horse. You know the one, right? You know where that horse could take him if Harry asked properly!" She was beginning to get more and more hysterical with every passing moment. The fact that she knew that Shadow would respond to having Harry on his back almost as well as he'd respond to her was frightening.  
  
"I'll be back," she said slowly, and left the cabin.  
  
Stepping back outside, Michelle knew where Shadow would take Harry had he the choice, the matter in question was whether or not Harry would allow himself to be taken there, if Harry took control of the steering, there was no thinking how far Shadow would run.  
  
If you hit a dog hard enough, he will never come near a raised fist again, and Shadow was the same way. Shadow remembered more often than he forgot, and Shadow knew a Potter when he felt one. He had tasted Michelle's blood, and he knew James's scent, but the boy was neither, instead he was a mixture of all of them, or Sirius, James, Michelle and the muggle-born that Shadow had never allowed him near. Muggles were evil, and even worse were the muggle born wizards.  
  
Despite this all, Shadow recognized the same urgency in the young Potter child as he had sensed in another young Potter child fifteen years ago.  
  
Harry had never been allowed on Dudley's rocking horse as a child, but this must have been what it felt like. He desperately regretted not grabbing a saddle or reigns, but it had seemed simple enough. There was something about him; something that Harry felt when he looked at Sirius, or when people spoke of his father. He felt safe, even though he was holding onto the mane for dear life as Shadow galloped along. 


	16. Whispers from the Pass

As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 16, Whispers From the Past  
  
"How are you?" Sirius asked slowly, entering the common room. Three days had passed since Michelle had told him about their parents, three cold, hard days.  
  
"I worry about Michelle," James said slowly, "she's too young to stay home on her own all summer, and I'm going to be working, I got an offer with the Ministry," he said, grinning weakly.  
  
"That's good mate," Sirius said quietly. Everyone used quiet, mourning voices nowadays. Even the people who had not experienced first hand the wrath of the wizard slowly rising to power, everyone still felt it.  
  
"Yea," James said, "but, I'm going to turn it down, at least until Michelle gets out of school and everything, I need to make sure she doesn't..."  
  
Sirius met his eyes, they had both been thinking the same thing, "mate," he said softly, "I don't think she's going to... you know...to herself."  
  
"That's not what I was talking about," James said slowly, fiddling with some paper between his hands, "I just don't want her thinking she can bring them back by going after him..."  
  
"She's not that stupid, James," Sirius said, locking eyes with the piece of paper.  
  
The portrait opened and Michelle came sauntering in, "you two should be in class," she said slowly, opening her bag and taking out her book and circling her tongue around a quill, as if to ink the tip.  
  
"Michelle, what are you doing here?" James said dryly, "you have work to do, you have OWLs this year, why are you skipping class?"  
  
"Because I try, with every muscle and fiber in my entire body, James Potter, to give you a heart attack before you can truly master the fine technique of manipulation which you have become accustomed to. Because I flat out refuse to let magic consume my life as it has consumed yours. Isn't that where evil is born? Hasn't this madness, this reckless hate been born from a wild man who is intelligent beyond belief, and has enslaved our entire race with fear and devotion! This is like the Holocaust all over again, why don't we just brand the muggles with gigantic stars on their foreheads, we can put them in camps, chambers, let-"  
  
"Michelle," Sirius whispered slowly, "calm down."  
  
"It was Epicurus who said death was nothing," Michelle whispered, shaking her head in frustration, "but by God, I beg to differ."  
  
Michelle walked towards her dorm, the floodgates had been released, and she was sobbing hysterically, yet silent enough to slip away without too much effort.  
  
Sirius turned and looked at James, "what the hell just happened?" He asked, slowly, allowing some of what Michelle said to process.  
  
"I worry...sometimes, she's muggle obsessed, you know. I mean, I've heard about their wars and I know the Prime Minister, but honestly, Michelle follows it too closely. I think she's trying to hide from something..."  
  
"There are bigger things to discuss right now," Sirius said, lowering his voice. "Listen, I just talked to Dumbledore, and he's trying to stop Voldemorte before it gets out of hand, he has put together a society of people, a lot of them are Aurors, and others are spies in the Ministry and Voldemorte's inner circle. James," Sirius continued, lowering his voice even more, looking over his shoulder cautiously, "he said we were free to join him as soon as we finish our last year, he said that if you wanted that then he would take very special precautions to ensure Michelle's safety."  
  
It was a lot of information to process in one sitting. James tried to keep his mind focusing on one issue at a time, the first one being Voldemorte, and the second was this society he was being asked to join.  
  
"James," Sirius continued, "we need to fight, you know this too, we both want to be there when they rip that slimy basterd's head off, I know you want to make those Death Eaters feel what you'll feel if they ever murder Michelle or Lily. Come on mate, we need to prevent these murders before they happen!"  
  
"You're right," he whispered, "yeah, go tell Dumbledore, go tell him that I'm in."  
  
"Good," Sirius said, grinning, "now you've had a long day, go and rest, close your eyes, James, and go to sleep." His enchanted words echoed throughout the common room, and no sooner had Sirius muttered these words then James had fallen into a restless slumber. He could feel his mind throw him to one dream to the next, as if he was going down an endless corridor with countless rooms on either side, and every door he opened he found neither peace nor quiet. Every door led him through to a new dread, a new loathing that was eating through his heart and soul.  
  
Michelle's cries jerked him back to reality, "what the fuck are you doing in here?" She shrieked, "get out you Voldemorte loving vermin!"  
  
"Michelle," James muttered, not wanting to open his eyes completely, "what's wrong?"  
  
"Who the hell invited Malfoy into our common room?" Michelle whispered, "James, who brought him in!"  
  
"Malfoy?" James opened his eyes wider than ever; where Sirius had once been Malfoy had taken his place, "what are you doing here?" He croaked quietly, "where did Sirius go?"  
  
Michelle looked at James awe struck, "Sirius hasn't been in the common room at all today, I was talking to him in his dormitory a few minutes ago, he's been doing homework and wondering where you've been."  
  
James looked around to try and talk to Malfoy some more, but he had already run off, "lord," James said, "how could I have been so stupid?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Michelle asked, sitting down slowly.  
  
"He must have been using some type of potion, but I swear Sirius was talking to me. Except, it wasn't Sirius at all, was it? I mean, it would've been Malfoy, but he was trying to convince me to join a secret society, something to band against the Death Eaters. Oh God, and everyone knows that Malfoy comes from a black family."  
  
"What did you say?" Sirius said sauntering down the stairs, looking around, "I heard some screaming."  
  
"James invited Malfoy into the common room," Michelle said quickly, "I swear, none of this was my fault."  
  
"What did I heard about a 'black family', mate?" Sirius asked, grinning.  
  
"An expression, that's all, I'm not implying that your family is crammed full of dark wizards...but-"  
  
"You want to duel over this Potter?" Sirius asked happily, "because not all of my family is black."  
  
Michelle stood up, "if I was a muggle born I would be so offended right about now, you know how much trouble people get into for racial slurs nowadays?"  
  
And once again, Michelle walked off leaving the two of them to duel. 


	17. A Journey Home Micca

A/N: Hmm...OK, perhaps I have added a couple addition original characters, but I was getting bored, I needed something.  
  
As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 17, A Journey Home; Micca  
  
Michelle woke up and looked over at her clock, a bit past one. She slumped her head back on her pillow and heaved a heavy sigh.  
  
"Going to bed so early nowadays, aren't we Miss Potter?" She heard the disembodied voice say slowly. Cocking an eyebrow and looking around Michelle slipped out of bed.  
  
The floor was feathery to her the touch of her feet, "I know this feeling," she said slowly to herself. Dreams were no stranger the Michelle Danielle Potter, and she could recognize when her mind had left her body to a different plane of consciousness.  
  
"Come out come out wherever you are," she whispered slowly, and pulled away a curtain, expecting the disembodied voice to appear. She was taken aback when there was no one to be found.  
  
"Hey," she called softly, "this is my dream, and my mind has made its decision that you are behind my curtain!" She was demanding this with all her strength, and once again, after pulling back the curtain, no one was to be found.  
  
"Michelle!" The voice called again, "this is not a dream, and I know that if you think about this hard enough, you will realize what has happened."  
  
"Occlumency..." She said slowly, "that is really the only logical explanation I can think of. Someone manipulating my dreams, but that's impossible and we both know it."  
  
"Oh, but you don't think its impossible, do you? If you honestly thought it was then you wouldn't have cared if I knew it or not, you wouldn't even have used the term 'we', if this is in fact your dream then the only person here is who your imagination wants to be here."  
  
"Fuck it," she called, exasperated, "just effing show yourself."  
  
The curtains Michelle had checked behind twice rustled, and a man stepped out from behind them.  
  
"Ha!" She said, triumphantly, "I knew you were there, and this just proves my case further, Sirius, you have to be alive to get to my dreams through occlumency."  
  
Sirius shook his head, "No, you just can't be dead."  
  
"You aren't making sense, Black," Michelle said, sitting down on her bed, leaning her back against the wall.  
  
"Use that pretty little head of yours, Potter," Sirius said quietly, "you know better than I that until a body is found you can't just immediately assume someone is dead."  
  
"How brutally unfair," Michelle said, smiling, "but if you were alive then you would have talked to Dumbledore, we both know it."  
  
"Michelle," Sirius said, sitting down beside her, "I was never one for Occlumency, I mean, the only person-"  
  
"I know," she whispered, "I haven't completely forgotten my past, you know."  
  
Sirius nodded looking at her dark eyes. They matched her long hair and gave her fair skin a dramatic tone.  
  
"Where's Harry?" Michelle asked, breaking the silence.  
  
Sirius looked momentarily shocked, "what do you mean?" He asked, clearly concerned.  
  
"If you're telling me the truth, and you aren't dead and you aren't alive then you must either be a ghost or stuck in the astral plane with your silver umbilical cord is hanging by a thread. I'm assuming that the veil you fell threw ended your life but couldn't kill you, so it did the next best thing."  
  
"Threw me into limbo..." Sirius said, "you see, I knew you're pretty little head would come up with some answers.  
  
"So," said Michelle waving her hands around, gesturing to him that the conversation was not done, "if you're in the astral plane then you could quite easily find Harry," she said, looking at his eyes.  
  
"Whomping Willow," Sirius said, his eyes glued shut, "I can't see him, but I feel him, and another life presence; that feels extraordinarily like James."  
  
"Well," Michelle said eyeing him closer than ever, "we both know that that can't be right...however that next best thing-"  
  
"I can't bloody believe that that stallion is still alive," Sirius said irritably, throwing his body up from the bed, clueing into what the James-like presence was.  
  
"You know, Sirius," she said, ignoring his movements across her chamber room, "no spell exists that brings people back from the dead, but I bet there is something out there getting people out of limbo. Of course, I would probably have to find the proper terminology for it first, and Dumbledore would have to be informed of this, which I hate.  
  
"I suppose this is the price you pay," Michelle muttered, "for fighting for what you love. When I was seventeen, and James told me he was going to join to Order, I figured it would be Pettigrew to bite the sweet bitterness of death first. I never thought that because of James's strength and connections to Dumbledore that he might be a prime target, and I wonder if he had known at the time that his acceptance to the Order would one day be the cause of his death, and the death of his wife, I wonder if he would have declined."  
  
"I doubt it," Sirius said matter of factly, "he knew the risk, and I knew the risk of going to get the kids out from the Department of Mysteries. I knew that one of us might be killed, and I knew that if it was me, then Harry would be stranded again, but it was worth it, Michelle, it truly was."  
  
Michelle felt tears crossing her cheeks, "why did you taunt her, Sirius, you fool! You could have killed her in less time than you took to mock her feeble attempts to stun you! You were already on the run, an actual crime wouldn't have made a difference."  
  
"It was the risk we all took, Michelle," he whispered into oblivion.  
  
"Then I'll find a spell, or a potion, to get you out of there. Any ideas of what I'm looking for?"  
  
"You know more about Sheath Bodies than I do," Sirius murmured, but what he was about to say, Michelle never heard. His eyes widened, and the image flickered. In his place there came to pass grotesque images, ones Michelle could never make up on her own. "Get out of my dreams." She screamed mentally to herself, and no sooner had this thought ripped through her mind than there was a large barricade protecting her from unfriendly mind-burglars.  
  
Michelle opened her eyes once again, this time the ground was hard and cold beneath her, and like a chef's knife it pierced through her entire body. She opened her eyes wider as she inhaled her surroundings.  
  
What am I doing in the Forbidding Forest? She wondered silently. Feeling around, she let out a quiet cry of pain.  
  
Broken glass had torn the skin of her right palm, shards of it were embedded into her skin, and dirt was quickly contaminating the wound.  
  
Three more beer bottles, not including the one that cut her hand, lay in front of her.  
  
"Where am I," she whispered.  
  
"You are in the wood of the Elken Rownes, Lady," a voice said behind her.  
  
"Sweet mother of Jesus!" Michelle choked, "this isn't the forest on Hogwarts...this is saddling the shores of the afterlife and the mortal realm."  
  
"Welcome home, Micca." The voice said. 


	18. Wakes of the Water Goddess

As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 18, Wakes of the Water Goddess  
  
Harry's messy hair fell across his brow. As he dismounted Shadow, he crept low to the ground, avoiding the fatal blows of the Whomping Willow. Carefully he pressed the notch, and the tree lay dormant.  
  
"Lumos," he whispered, and like the first day of creation, there was light where there had been none before. And as he gazed around, he noticed that the Willow appeared to be slightly different than it had been before.  
  
"Good evening, Mister Potter," a voice said quietly in front of him, and raising the nova of light, Harry gazed, for the first time in over a year, the face of the man partially responsible for his parents deaths.  
  
"Pettigrew!" Another silouette appeared from the shadows, "where are your manors? Mister Potter has just had a trying day, and a long journey, please, join us." The snake like eyes of Lucius Malfoy matched his hair, slicked back, like his son's, it could have been a portrait of Draco, just two and a half decades older.  
  
No sooner had Malfoy offered his hospitality, had a chair slipped underneath Harry, and as his knees buckled, he could feel ropes binding his ankles and wrists. Cutting into him like venom.  
  
"I had the pleasure of meeting your aunt," Malfoy's lips pursed, extraordinarily like Snape's, "not long ago. She's a bit fragile, bad temper, and a foul mouth, of course," he continued, "her family was foul enough, but she'll share the same fate as that of her brother, Mister Potter."  
  
Harry cocked his eyebrow in slight confusion. If Malfoy felt that Harry would be angered by such insults towards Aunt Petunia, he was sadly mistaken, but some lingering feeling told Harry that Voldemorte knew better than that.  
  
"My aunt," Harry said quietly, "doesn't have a brother, unless of course you consider Uncle Harold, her brother-in-law..." his voice trailed off, trying hard to read Malfoy's expression, though he seemed not so surprised by the remark, on the contrary, he appeared as to not have heard it at all.  
  
"Oh, I remember her, I remember her very well," Malfoy leered, "I cannot explain to you, Potter, what a pleasure it was for me to kill her best friend, to watch Sam cry in pain, to watch her burn at my very wand, and just knowing that she was watching this all, just knowing that from that point on, the image of Sam's death and my wand would be branded on the interior of her skull, but I can show you." And slowly, Malfoy took his wand and raised it delicately to his temple, and a waterfall of silver liquid seeped from it into a glass bowl lying on the flour. He bent down, and with a surprising amount of effort, lifted it from the ground.  
  
"Look in, Mister Potter," Malfoy drawled, "and see what your aunt was before fifteen years of exile."  
  
Hermione's voice popped into his thoughts, or perhaps it was the voice of reason. "Careful, Harry," it hissed, "these men are not your allies, they want to harm you – HARRY DON'T!" Curiosity had, yet again, caught up with the voice of reason, and silenced it.  
  
Swirling silver began to play softly in tune to Harry's arms and legs, and soon what had once been a glass bowl, was becoming the grounds of Hogwarts.  
  
"How'd you find the OWLs?" A skinny, fair skinned, and slick hair asked, Harry twitched, uncomfortably, he was very conscious of the fact that this was Malfoy's memory, and he was no where to be seen, it was just the girls and, what looked suspiciously like the imprint of a body sitting cross-legged on the grass only meters away from them.  
  
"Oh, Sam," the second girl whispered. Her voice was sweet, soft, but it had a slight demand of authority. "Failed the lot of it, I suspect."  
  
Sam looked unpleasantly amused, "Micca," she giggled, something about her voice was irritating to him, "I bet you did better than I did when I was in my fifth year, God, you wouldn't believe the look my brother-"Micca gave an uncomfortable groan, but Sam appeared not to have noticed, "-gave when he saw the results, he almost had my head."  
  
"Yes, well, that's the price you pay for wanting to be an Auror with a brother who's a Death Eater, I mean, I'm thinking either way he'll have your head."  
  
Sam scowled, "Severus isn't like that, Michelle Daniel Potter, and you know it, he'd probably be a bit more pleasant towards you if your brother didn't try and feed him to the Giant Squid every time he lost a Quidditch match."  
  
Harry looked at Micca, and then at Sam, and sure enough, Sam could have definitely have been some type of relative of Snape's, her nose even had a feminine curled hook to it. And Micca, now he recognized her, she looked, maybe slightly more innocent, but besides that, she was the spitting image of his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
  
Harry looked around, and saw that other students had gathered around them, talking amongst themselves. He saw his father, Sirius, Remus and Peter standing within listening distance to the pair of girls, and then he saw the imprint in the grass begin to move.  
  
A swirl of silver erupted from the Pensieve, and suddenly Harry was in a dark dungeon.  
  
"Traitor!" Spat Voldemorte, "blood traitor!" He paced vigorously around, "young Miss Snape, Auror if I heard correctly."  
  
"You fucking Nazi!" Sam yelled as loudly as she could, turning around to meet the eyes of every Death Eater. "All of you, purifying the race of Wizards, you're no better than Hitler!"  
  
Harry saw the young faces of Death Eaters that he had seen in the Graveyard in his fourth year, and he saw older faces that he knew would parish within their own heads, in the walls of Azkaban years later.  
  
"Calm yourself, Snape," Malfoy hissed, "tell us the whereabouts of your brother, and we will let you leave, unscathed and unharmed."  
  
"If you think I am going to fucking sell out my brother, then you have another thing come!" Sam spat in his face.  
  
"Manors," Lucius whispered, "Crucio."  
  
Harry recognized and empathized the pain that Sam was feeling at this very moment. Her eyes closed shut, and he knew that she was praying for death.  
  
"You ruddy basterd!" Michelle came bursting through the door, she looked as though she hadn't aged a day, and yet the anger seeping out of her eyes was astonishing.  
  
"Potter," Malfoy said happily, "you can join your friend, and then we will just have your brother to add to our collection of foolish Potters."  
  
"You will not touch me," she whispered, meeting his eyes, "and you will not kill HER," she pointed her wand at Sam, and she hovered up above the ground, the agony and pain clearing from her eyes, before dropping to the ground.  
  
"Micca," Sam said from her slumped body position on the ground, "get out of here, you're just sixteen, you aren't even finished school yet."  
  
"Micca?" Lucius said, sliding some hair behind his ears, such a lovely pet name, did Black give it to you?"  
  
Michelle stared at him, and closed her eyes, "leave him out of this, Lucius," she whispered.  
  
"Oh, but Micca," he said, drawling, "we both know that if his ickle belle is in trouble, he'll come," Lucius hissed the last two words, "and imagine this, so will James, and then we will have four people closest to Dumbledore all dead!"  
  
Harry withdrew from the Pensieve, for he did not wish to see what was about to happen. He did not want to find out whether or not his dad and Sirius had shown up, and he did not want to see how Sam died.  
  
"Does it disturb you," Lucius hissed near his ear, "that you needn't have lived with muggles your entire life. That Michelle knew Sirius was innocent, and had she simply just told that to Dumbledore, Sirius Black might have been cleared of all charges, that it was she that caused the death of your parents by betraying them. You've heard Black's side of the story, about Pettigrew, but Michelle knew all this, she knew that Peter was a part of the enemy, for she had seen him there, amongst the Death Eaters, she KNEW Harry Potter, and she didn't tell your dad this when he confided in her that he was going to use Peter as a Secret Keeper instead of Black."  
  
Harry shook his head, it didn't make sense, unless Michelle was a Death Eater as well, but Dumbledore would have known this, and he would not have employed her. If he could not trust Dumbledore, then there was no hope.  
  
"You filthy liar," Harry seethed.  
  
"Think I'm telling you some far fetched tale, do you Potter? But the truth is, Michelle was too relieved to hear that Sirius was not going to be in mortal danger, she would not jeopardize that, no, not even for her own brother's life." 


	19. Bloody Maries

AN: I had to up the rating to accommodate this chapter. It's tasteful, but fairly graphic and verbal at times. Review.  
  
As more about James's complicated past unravels itself, Harry is beginning to learn more things about his late Godfather. But when he discovers too much about the Marauders, Harry's life is thrown into a fatal vortex. Voldemorte is back, he's already failed countless times in killing Harry, and he doesn't intend to fail again.  
  
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 19, Bloody Maries  
  
Jackie let her hair fall between her eyes as she walked slowly to her run down apartment. Her life matched her appearance, grim, shabby...poor. But around here, she mused, the word 'poor' was nothing to be ashamed of, it could describe everyone within a mile radius of where she stood.  
  
"Hey, Revie!" A voice called across the street, and Jackie stopped in her tracks and stared back at him, "ya momma's a whore, you know that Jackie Nicole Revie, you know your momma's a whore?"  
  
No, Jackie continued, poor was definitely nothing to be ashamed of, it was your pride that counted. She knew that they spoke the truth, for the most part. Of course, the only way that Stanley knew anything about her mother was because his step-dad spent half of his paycheck on prostitutes and heroine.  
  
"Oi! Stan," Jackie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted back, "don't you go saying shit about my mother, and I won't..." she paused, Stanley was larger than her petite body, but she picked up a stone anyways, "and I won't effing knock your head off Stanley!"  
  
"Go ahead and try it, Revie," he called back, throwing his head back in laughter.  
  
"Fuck off," she muttered, but not nearly loud enough for him to hear her.  
  
She made the rest of the way home in the most civilized manor she could muster. She knew that come nightfall, the cocaine dealers, probably a couple of gangs as well, would line the streets.  
  
She was sixteen, and this was the life she was used to. Her father was killed even before her mother knew she was pregnant, and with serious alcohol and drug addictions, Sarah Revie had been forced onto the streets. Not much has changed since then, Jackie thoughts traveled from memory to memory; mom's still a junkie, and the only difference is that she needs to look after two lives instead of just one.  
  
She rang the bell outside her apartment complex, and the landlord buzzed her in.  
  
"Miss Revie," he said through the gritted teeth that kept his cigarette from falling from his lips, "always a pleasure." And he tipped his Red Sox baseball cap slightly out of respect. Jackie figured that in better circumstances he could have managed a deluxe five star hotel, instead of a run down apartment where the checks bounced for most of the tenants.  
  
"Jonathon," she said politely, she had been taught good manors, "I see you're doing well."  
  
"Aye," he said, his British accent still heavy despite all of the fifteen years he had spent living in the US, "just bringing your lovely mum a spot of tea, actually."  
  
Jackie flushed bright red, she began to make her way up the stairs; God only knew that they didn't pay rent, and Jackie would never forget the day she saw first hand how exactly her mother got out of that every month.  
  
"Mom!" She called as she walked through the door, "momma, I'm home!"  
  
She walked the length of the apartment before noticing that the phone was dangling from its cord, the TV had been pushed to the floor, and someone had run a blade across the sofa.  
  
"Momma!" Jackie called, running from the bathroom to the master bedroom to her room, "momma!" She hollered again.  
  
"Jackie?" A weak voice came from underneath her bed, "Jackie," it whispered again.  
  
"What happened?" Jackie whispered through tears. They had been robbed before, but never had such brutality been used.  
  
"I...want you to look underneath the sink, the spare key, leave and lock...door behind you, don't come back Jackeline, don't you dare come back."  
  
"Momma?" Jackie whispered, "what did they do to you?"  
  
Blood had crusted itself across her mother's face, her shirt had been slashed open, exposing her bare breasts. Her stomach was bleeding, and fresh blood was running freely from her wrists.  
  
"Don't you fucking come back, you hear me Jack?" She whispered again.  
  
"Yes, momma, I hear you," she said, sobbing some more.  
  
"Take the gun, but use it only if you need to, don't you take another souls life if you can help it. Remember, you are a good Christian girl, innocent, pure, virginal," she spat some blood onto the floor, and coughed wickedly.  
  
"Momma..." Jackie said slowly washing her face with her own tears, "you're coming with me though," she whispered, "I could take you to the hospital..."  
  
"Jack," Sarah whispered, "there's an envelope behind the toilet, it has three hundred dollars. It will be enough for a room in a motel and some food for a couple of weeks. Get a job, and get away from here. There are two letters in that envelope, read them when you feel that there are no eyes watching you, Jackie, you understand?"  
  
"Yes momma!" Jackie cried, and she buried her face in her mother's neck, "please don't go," she whispered, holding onto her body, trying to hold onto life, "please come back."  
  
But only the lifeless arm of her mother's was there to comfort her, and she stood up, and taking one last look at the mangled body, she left.  
  
Grabbing the small shotgun underneath her mother's pillow, and the envelope that she had always been warned to stay far away from in her early years, she bolted from the apartment, locking the door, and pocketing the key. She heard her feet move down the stairs, and yet she did not feel her legs making the motion. She felt...odd – awkward almost.  
  
"Good day," Jonathon yelled after her, not taking notice of the tears trailing after her blonde hair, "say good day to your..." Jackie knew what he was about to say, and she continued to run without hearing the word of the sentence.  
  
After running six blocks, her sides ached, and her lungs were burning. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed some more. She had always been close to her mother, and had always felt that the pair of them were well liked, but no...hookers and their by-products, Jackie thought, could never be well liked.  
  
The paper was yellowed with age, but it appeared to have only been read once, Jackie noted as she delicately pulled the letters from the envelope.  
  
"My dearest Sarah,  
I have told father about our proposal, he was thrilled and is excited to meet you. I will make my way back to America as soon as I can. I'm sure you two will get along splendidly, as I've already said before, he is a professor at an elite boarding school outside of London, but here is what I have neglected to tell you over these past few weeks that we have been apart: I have been offered a teaching position by the headmaster of the very same school. The pay is fair, it will provide us with the many luxuries that you will shortly become accustomed to, of course I will see you not nearly enough, but it will suffice until I can make my way through law school.  
Sarah, many things will change, but remember what I told you the night before I left, just think about that before you choose to commit yourself to anything that you aren't ready to handle.  
Lots of Love, Adam" 


End file.
